


In Check

by QuietBubbles



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), dan and phil
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dom Phil, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluffy Dan, M/M, Obsession, Over-protectiveness, Paranoia, Phil is Quite Scary, Protectiveness, Romance, Scary Phil, Smut, Sub Dan Howell, Threats, Violence, actor!dan, boss!phil, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-17 22:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16104998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietBubbles/pseuds/QuietBubbles
Summary: Daniel, a young, emerging actor, has a boyfriend, who loves him very much. It doesn’t matter that Philip’s line of work is dangerous, not only for him, but for all who surround him. It doesn’t matter that, day by day, he grows more protective, more possessive, more paranoid. On this chessboard, death is only ever one wrong move away. But none of that matters. For Daniel’s boyfriend loves him very much...Obsession, Paranoia, Fluff, Smut, Danger. Will Update Daily! Hope you enjoy! <3





	1. Pawn

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoy my latest attempt at fanfiction. I'm generally very good at posting a chapter a day, so expect more tomorrow and tomorrow until it is finished! 
> 
> As I always say, I feel a little odd using real people in FF, but they are so far out of reality in this, it's cool :P I am very grateful for any kudos/comments if you feel so inclined to leave them. But, more importantly, enjoy, and I hope you carry on reading! Much love <3

* * *

  _The Pen and Pipe Public House, Austen Street. Tuesday. 20:47_

* * *

 

 Philip was not a killer.

 From his position, sitting quietly at the bar, a small measure of whiskey in his hand, he could see all the way across the darkened pub. There was no need to be any closer than this.

 “ _Arrgghh! Please! Please!_ ”

 It was the echoes from the rafters that disturbed Philip, rather than the pleading or desperation. In a small pool of white light, a Man lay, his four limps splayed about him like a child making angels in the snow. Only this Man was held fast by two enormous figures in black clothing, stretching the man as if on the rack. Dogwood, who had the face and the strength of a truck, pressed his heavy knees into the Man’s palms, and Gately, six and a half feet tall and wiry, had his ankles clasped in two large, gloved hands as she pinned him to the wooden boards below.

 “ _Please_!” the trapped Man screamed, beads of sweat pouring down his scarlet face. “ _Please, it’s nothing to do with me! I don’t know anything! I don’t know anything_!”

 Philip took a sip of whiskey, enjoying the gentle warming sensation. Then, very softly, he murmured: “Too loud.”

 Half a second later-the screams turned to unintelligible gargles. Without looking up, Philip knew that Dogwood had pressed a knife close to his throat.

 “Enough of this.” Philip sighed, taking another sip. He never raised his voice. Not even a fraction. “His tongue is black with lies. I’m going to give him-“ (he never deigned to speak directly to whom he was interrogating). “-thirty seconds to tell the truth.” He looked down at the face of his gold wristwatch, the smallest hand of which showed five seconds to twelve. “And if he continues to disrespect me with such blatant deceit…I want that black tongue stopped for good.”

 There was a terrible dry gasp from the throat of the restrained man.

 “Time.” Philip said, as if he was bored with the whole exercise. He slipped from the bar stool and sauntered over to the mess on the floor, who was now close to tears. In the same movement, he knelt down over the Man, and pressed the watch into his boiling, soaking we face. He deserved to know how much time he had left, at least, otherwise it would be a cruelty. Philip’s nose wrinkled slightly from such close proximity to the man. He could smell his sour, sweaty terror. “Talk.”

 The first few seconds ticked by in near silence-apart from the heavy, laboured breaths of the Man, and the quiet scratching of the knife edge upon his stubble. Dogwood at the head and Gately at the feet held fast. Philip simply held his wrist out above the Man’s head, letting time simply drip by.

 “Twenty seconds.” he said calmly. Beneath his arm, the Man let out a whimper. But still-he pursed his lips, staring defiantly up at the ceiling, his teeth clenched. He had obviously taken his vows with an incredibly serious heart. But to the wrong cause. Perhaps he was now coming around to this realisation, for with every passing moment, he looked less certain.  

 “Ten seconds.” Philip breezed. He could feel Dogwood beside him, knife in hand, beginning to swell with excitement. Dogwood had a sixth sense for the moment in which a man would break. He had a bloodthirstiness that Philip both indulged and abhorred. There was no need, simply no need, to take such pleasure in mutilation. However, it was undeniably valuable, and Philip liked to think he utilised it exactly the right amount.

 “Six.”

 “Five.”

 The Man’s eyes popped, flicking repeatedly down to the knife. His face had turned from scarlet to pale yellow. Despite the iron grips in which he was restrained, he had begun to shake. He was going to break. Philip could smell it.

 “Three.”

 “Two.”

 “On-“

 “ _FINE_!” the Man yelled, his voice an octave higher than it once had been. “ _FINE! I’LL TELL YOU! I’LL TELL YOU! GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME_!”

 Philip was unsure as to whether he meant Dogwood, or the knife. In the end, he decided it was be safer to be rid of both. “Let him sit.” he said quietly. It was only civilised, after all. Instantly, Dogwood yanked the knife away, lifted his knees from the Man’s hands, and gripped him by the shoulders. He pushed him into a sitting position, keeping a firm hold of him-but he was out of sight, and the Man was face to face with Philip.

 “Now.” said Philip, his voice icily polite as he appeared to address Dogwood rather than his victim. “Is he going to tell me the truth?”

 “ _Yes_!” the Man whimpered, tears in his eyes. “ _I’ll tell you anything you want_! _Just-please-don’t kill me_!”

 Philip rolled his eyes. How _very_ courageous. He would have though that his Enemy would have chosen their associates more carefully. It was almost insulting, really. Nevertheless, at least things were beginning to move along. Philip had a prior engagement this evening. He had to be home in time for dinner. He had promised…and this time, he was going to keep his promise, come hell or high water. No one, least of all this dirty little man, was going to stop him.

 “Go on.” he murmured.

 The Man’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he gasped for breath. Colour slowly drained back into his face as he gulped and gargled on his own spittle. Patiently, Philip waited. His watch-wrist still hovered defiantly over the Man’s face. Perhaps this evening would not have been wasted after all…

 Then-suddenly-a flash behind the eyes.

 “ _This is for Saxon, you fucker_!” 

 It happened in less than a second. With a burst of strength, the Man had ripped his arm free of Dogwood’s grip. Then-he dived into the inside of his shirt collar-and yanked, from the very lining-a flick-knife. There was a burst of silver-then, a spurt of red.

 Philip let out a hiss of pain, reeling back. Hot, wet pain burst out of the palm of his hand, which had leapt readily up to block the blade’s journey to his jugular. He looked down at the wound, which was seeping blood onto the gold strap of his watch. There was a deep, dark red gash, breaking the pale skin apart.

 There was a dull thud as Dogwood and Gately wrestled the Man to the ground, pinning him back into his snow-angel position. With only some difficulty, Gately pulled the flick-knife from his hands and threw it away over her shoulder. There was a crash as it bounced off the wall and fell to the floor. A moment later, Dogwood had the knife pressed to the Man’s throat once more-close enough to draw beads of blood.

 Philip was still slightly in shock as he stared down at his bloody hand, which was leaking down between his fingers. It wasn’t the wound, or the pain, that shook him. It was the fact that he had fallen for the Man’s lies. It was an error. And Philip could not afford to make mistakes.

 Ice cold anger flowed through his veins.

 “Mr. Lester?” Gately asked, her voice just as calm as his as she held down the struggling Man-though her blonde fringe stuck to her forehead with sweat.

 “ _You son of a bitch, Lester_!” the Man shouted, his voice strangled by the proximity of the knife. “ _It’s over! Rex is coming for you!”_

 Philip ignored every slur. He never swore himself. Especially after such a breakthrough. Perhaps accidentally-the Man had revealed the most crucial piece of information. Since Saxon’s death, the person who had taken his place, the person who had figure-headed the latest string of insults and attacks upon his, Philip’s, territory…the person to whom this Man now answered… _Rex_.

 Without bothering to look down at the Man, Philip clenched his sleeve around his hand, attempting to quell the bleeding. Quickly, the whiteness of his cuffs was saturated red. Then, with extreme politeness: “Thank you. That will be all.”

 Turning his back on the scene, and pressing harder on his cuff, Philip crossed the pub and returned to the bar. With his good hand, he took up his whiskey glass and drained it coolly. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of a struggle-then screams of pain.

 “Dogwood?”

 “Yes, sir?”

 “Take the hand that cut me first.”

 With that, he slung his long, black coat over his shoulder, concealing his wounded hand in the material, and walked smartly out of the pub, closing the door behind him. The cool night air was pleasant upon his face, and upon the heat of the cut. Calmly, he began the long walk home. Perhaps he would only be a little late after all.

 From somewhere behind him, there was a terrible, high-pitched scream…then, deadly silence.

 Philip was not a killer. He had never killed a man in his life. However. That was not to suggest that he could not make men die.

* * *

  _23 Woolf Street. Still Tuesday. 21:30_

* * *

 

The front door had a stained glass pane at eye-level. A fleur-de-lis design in reds, soft purples, and blues. Philip had always found it calming. Though perhaps this was because he spent a few moments most nights on this doorstep, trying to expel all thoughts of the day that had been from his mind. He did not like to come home as Mr. Lester. He did not like to take any part of Mr. Lester beyond this door.

 A deep breath of cool night air. Then…slowly, he let it go. Only then, when all the adrenaline had left his body, did he ever turn his key and open the door. Instantly-the delicious, savoury smell of cooking spices hit him. It warmed him right though to the bone.

 “Hello?” he called, locking the door behind him and pushing the top and bottom latches into place. The entrance hallway was spotless as always, the stripped-back wooden floor and white walls set off by the attractive light fixture above his head. As he turned to hang up his coat on the bannister-there was a slight commotion behind the kitchen door. Philip heard the sizzle and whoosh of a pot being set on the stove, a clatter of cooking utensils being thrown down in excitement, before the door burst open.

 “You’re early!”

 Standing in the doorway, a tea towel draped over his arm, was a young man with a head of dark curls and a surprised-but pleased-smile. He was tall, within an inch of even Philip in height, and he was dressed entirely in black. At the sight of him-Philip’s face broke into his first smile of the day.

 “I’m actually _late_ , babe.” he said, raising an eyebrow as he hung up his coat. His voice was suddenly warm and natural. “Quite late. I’m sorry.”

 “Well, yes, but I’ve started expecting you an hour later than you say.” Daniel explained breathlessly, still beaming. “So you’re early by my count. I’ve not even finished dinner yet-you’ll have to wait for a bit, I’m afraid. Oh...just come here!” With a sigh, he rushed to him and threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

 Philip felt the last stresses of the day drain from him as he leaned into Daniel, burying his head gratefully in his shoulder and drinking in his clean, familiar smell. He was so sweet, so warm, so much the antithesis of everything Philip faced in the outside world...“It’s good to see you.” he said, with feeling. “I’m sorry I’m always out late. I don’t mean to let you down, really I don’t…”

 “Ah. Well.” Daniel said, in a vague, long-suffering voice, before patting his back. “You’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

 Philip did not want to let go. He pulled him closer, sadly kissing his cheek, as the face of the man he had just had killed loomed in his mind. _Rex. Rex. Rex_ …but he tried hard to expel these thoughts. The moment he spoke of them, or even thought of them in Dan’s presence, it was almost as if he had brought him into them. Philip had gone to great lengths to ensure that no part of his life could ever touch Dan. There was absolutely nothing that he would not do to keep it that way. Hidden in this cosy little street of terraced houses on the edge of the city with the man he loved, it often felt as if he was living two entirely different lives. Even that he was two entirely different people. There was Mr. Lester…and then there was-

 “Come and sit down, Phil, I’ve got loads to tell you!” Daniel was saying, beginning to lead him into the kitchen. “I’ll just stick the kettle on, and we’ll have a cup of-what’s that?” He had reached down to take Philip’s hand-but had recoiled when he felt the hot, sticky mess within. Before Philip could even begin to fabricate an excuse, Daniel had grabbed his forearm and forced him to stretch out his hand. The cut, deep and still seeping blood, stood out on his palm like a long, scarlet lip-print.

 Daniel gasped.

 “It’s nothing!” said Philip, trying to snatch his hand back. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Let’s have that cup of tea-“

 “No!” Daniel held on fast, wincing as he stared down at the wound. “Oh God, what _happened_?”

 Philip took a deep breath. His palm was stinging from the lack of pressure and exposure to the air. He did not want to lie-but, equally, he did not want to tell the truth. He could not bring Dan into that scene in the Pen and Pipe. He would be so frightened if he knew what Philip had really been up to that night. And so…the gentle lie: “Erm…Look, I went to pet some stray cat on the way home, and it slashed me for my troubles, okay? Just a cat scratch. It’s fine, _honestly_. I’ll run it under the tap.”

 His eyes met Dan’s, deep brown and filled with fear. He watched his throat bob up and down as he gulped hard, with slow, painful realisation dawning upon his face. In those eyes, Philip could see that Daniel knew exactly where a cut like that had come from. But, as he did with so many other things-he simply chose not to believe it. Blinking twice to banish the fright from his eyes, his face simply fell into soft concern. “Oh, you poor thing.” he said, his voice sounding only slightly forced. “Those strays can be vicious-and filthy! Let me clean you up at least, darling.”

 Philip sat patiently at the kitchen table while Daniel made a great fuss of his “cat-scratch”, dabbing at the wound with disinfectant and wiping away the dried brown blood, before bandaging it firmly. He wondered aloud whether it might need stitches several times, but Philip would no sooner have gone to the hospital with a cut like this than he would have told Dan the whole truth. Hospitals meant questions. Philip could not afford questions.

 “There.” Daniel said, bending his head to tenderly kiss the bandages and offering a tiny, playful smile as he did so. Still-his eyes were very wide. 

 “Thanks.” said Philip, managing to smile back. “You’re too good to me.”

 Daniel gave him a rather desperate look. He pressed his lips together tightly, as if willing himself not to speak-but the words came tumbling out anyway. “If I was truly good to you, I’d make you get out of this whole wretched business…” He sighed, holding Philip’s injured hand in both of his own, before lowering his voice a fraction. “Please. I drive myself mad worrying about you. A man was killed last week, not far from here. Mr. Saxon, or something. They say he was caught up in…well…” These were words that were never spoken in their home. “ _You_ know. Oh Phil, what if you had been seriously hurt, or-“

 “Alright!” Philip did not raise his voice-but his tone was pointed. He sighed, reaching out his good hand and patting Dan’s. Then, he spoke in a voice that was hardly above a whisper. “Look, I’m sorry. But there is no need to worry your head about me, I promise. This city is mine, baby.” He could not help but grin. “Which means it is yours. I promised I’d give you the world, didn’t I? Well-I’m starting here.”

 Daniel shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. He fingered the bandages once more, his eyes very bright. “I don’t want anything but you, safely back every night…” He leaned down and kissed Philip’s hand once more, this time lingering as long as he could. “I can’t help but worry…”

 “Well-there’s no need.” said Philip decisively, making it clear that the subject was closed. “But I could never stop what I do. It’s in my blood.”

 Daniel said nothing this time. He simply looked down at the red-stained bandage, biting hard on his lip. He knew that he had stepped over some invisible line. There were only two rules when it came to living with Philip:

  _Rule One: Don’t ever ask about what Philip does for a living._

_Rule Two: Don’t ever, ever open the chest behind the sofa._

 Daniel had just came very close to breaking Rule One.

 “Er-how about that cup of tea then?” Philip said, his voice levelling out once more to normality as he bracingly patted Dan’s hand. “I’m absolutely gasping.”

 “…Oh. Sure.” Dan shook his head a few times, before getting to his feet and beginning to collect mugs and teabags together. He still looked troubled-but he managed to smile bravely as the kettle came slowly to a boil.

 “So what happened at your audition, then?” Philip asked, leaning back comfortably in his chair and folding his arms across his chest, the bandaged one lying carefully on top of the other.

 Daniel stopped in his tracks, setting down the mugs. His smile remained firmly in place-but it was beginning to look as if somebody had painted it on. “Well. It went alright, I suppose…I did get down to the final two for the part! But…then they told me I could go home. I’m certain they’re going to go with the other guy instead…”

 Philip had been ready to congratulate him-but loyal, indignant confusion crossed his face instead, as it did every single time Daniel was rejected for a role. “What? Are they crazy? Baby, you’re the perfect Hamlet! What the hell are they _thinking_?”

 Daniel gave Philip a small, grateful smile. “Thanks. There were three of them on the panel. Two women and a man. Both the women liked me a lot…but the man…well. He… _didn’t_ …”

 Philip sat up a little straighter. There was something else here-he could sense it. “What did this guy say?”

 There was a short pause, in which, once more, Daniel pressed his lips together hard. Then-it came tumbling out. “After I’d read…he took me to the side. He said…” Daniel tried hard to smile, as if he didn’t care-but his lip trembled. “He said that he regretted calling me back. That it was a waste of time-and-and so was I. I’m all wrong for Shakespeare, and all wrong for the stage in general. He said…he said that I’d never make it as an actor. That…that I really ought to give it up!” 

 For a long moment, there was silence as Philip took in these words.

 Then-in a soft, dangerous voice:

 “No one speaks to you like that.”

 Daniel gave a short, sharp laugh that was much too false. “Oh, Graham DeLaney talks to everyone like that. He’s a real sadist-absolutely loves a power trip. Really gets him off." He snorted disdainfully. "Everyone’s scared of him. But he can make or break someone, you know-“

 “But you’re not everyone.” Philip murmured. Well.  _Graham DeLaney_. “You’re with me. And I say _no one_ speaks to you like that.” 

 Behind them, the pot on the stove sizzled. The stock inside had almost entirely evaporated.

 “Phil…” Daniel began, his voice almost pleading. “You won’t…you won’t _do_ anything…will you?” 

 Philip was quiet for some time. His forehead crinkled as he lost himself deeply in thought. But, a moment later-he resurfaced, and gave Daniel a darkened grin. “Of course not, babe. Pass us the milk jug, will you?”


	2. Rook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so, so much for reading, and for all your kudos and comments! Much love to you all! <3 hope you continue reading, and most importantly, enjoy <3 
> 
> Content Warning: Probably should have said this before, but the relationship portrayed in this fic is extremely unhealthy! Please do not think I'm condoning this and if you have been affected by anything in this fic, there are organisations out there which can help you! Do a quick google search to find support in your area <3 
> 
> Thank you! Hope you're all doing well <3 xxx

* * *

   _23 Woolf Street. Wednesday. 10:15_

* * *

 

_Rule One: Don’t ever ask about what Philip does for a living._

_Rule Two: Don’t ever, ever open the chest behind the sofa._

 Daniel awoke late, as usual. It was always a bit of a struggle for him to unwind himself from the warm bedsheets and get up to begin the day. First, he groped on the bedside table for his phone, and spent almost half an hour scrolling through various social media platforms. He did not possess any social media account in his true name, and certainly never posted any photographs of himself, for Philip would never have permitted it, lest their security be compromised. But he was allowed to use pseudonyms to keep up with family and close friends, to stay up to date with their lives and to send birthday cards at the proper times, despite how little he saw of them in the flesh.

 Finally, when he could find no more excuses not to get up, he pulled himself into a sitting position, and looked over at the other side of the bed. There was an indentation of a head on the pillows, but, apart from an empty mug of coffee, no sign of Philip himself. Philip went out to “work” fairly early in the mornings. Daniel was now so used to it that he tended to sleep right through his early departures-though sometimes the clicking of the locks and the bang of the front door woke him. This morning, though, it was as though Philip had simply vanished into thin air.

 Ten minutes later, Daniel was sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of toast crumbs in front of him, a mug of tea clasped in his hands. He looked up at the clock on the wall, the ticking of which echoed through the empty house. It was still only a quarter to eleven…Daniel sighed. He loved Philip more than anyone in the world was loved, and he would not change him for anything. However, a life with Philip could be very lonely.

Sometimes, Daniel felt as if he spent his entire life waiting for Philip to come home.            

Otherwise, all he had to look forward to today was the coolly anticipated rejection call from the casting agent…

 With a heavy heart, Daniel went through his to-do list for that day. He had to learn a monologue for an audition he had next week. He had to sweep the kitchen floor and wipe down the counter tops. He had to vacuum the living room. He had to change the sheets on their bed, and dust down the spare bedroom…although, come to think of it, he could not remember the last time that someone had slept in that room. So often, he was left on his own.

 Taking a sip of tea, he considered the spare room. It was a good size, not too much smaller than the master. When he and Philip had first bought the house, the estate agent, with her loud-coloured suit and very white teeth, had enthusiastically referred to it as “perfect for children”. When she had said this, Daniel had felt a strange, tugging sensation in his heart.

 Alone, in this empty house, he had been feeling that same sensation a lot recently.

 With a sigh, Daniel got to his feet and meandered into the living room, trying to bolster himself to begin his tasks for the day. Setting his mug down on the coffee table, he located the vacuum cleaner behind the sofa, and bent down to retrieve it. As he pulled it out, his eyes fell upon the small, black chest with large bronze hinges that sat there half in shadow. On the handle, there was an enormous bronze lock, securing the contents inside. Daniel gazed at it for a long moment, wondering…

  _Rule Two: Don’t ever, ever open the chest behind the sofa._

 With a sigh, Daniel straightened up and plugged in the vacuum.

* * *

_Above The Pen and Pipe Public House. Still Wednesday. 14:02_

* * *

 

 “You shouldn’t have killed him.”

 Philip looked up, and fixed his eyes carelessly in the direction of the speaker. He had been carefully watering the blooming houseplant on his desk, a small metal can in his bandaged hand. This was a plant had cultivated for some time, and he found great peace the act of caring for it. It was an oasis in this dimly lit, brown-painted room with only one small window, which had a long, deep crack down the centre. “What?”

 “You shouldn’t have killed Weiss.” From the chair in the corner of the room, a young woman with purple-coloured hair in a spiky ponytail spoke. Her arms were folded defiantly over her chest.

 “Oh?” Philip raised an eyebrow, the image of the screaming Man from last night filling his head once more. “Was _that_ his name?”

 “You know perfectly well that was his name,” said Wakefield edgily. She had a knack of making even Philip feel small. “Weiss was more valuable to you alive than dead.”

 “Weiss had no value to me whatsoever.” Philip said, setting down the watering can and taking his seat once more behind the desk.

 “Not now he’s at the bottom of the canal anyway,” retorted Wakefield, a look of rebellious contempt on her face. “Did you manage to get a word out of him before shit-for-brains over there-“ She jerked her head in the direction of Dogwood, who was dozing by the fireplace with a dazed, stupid look on his face. “-did him?”

 Philip decided that fewer words were prudent, given Wakefield’s temper. “Rex.”

 Though his voice was very quiet, the name seemed to echo through the silent office.

 Philip turned back to Wakefield, who’s eyes had become very wide. “Who is Rex?”

 Wakefield was not a woman easily shocked. Indeed, she did not seem surprised by this news whatsoever. However-that was not to say that she was not concerned. “I thought they’d use Rex...” she murmured. “I didn’t want to believe it. But if Weiss said so…” She swallowed hard. “If you thought Saxon was a crazy old bastard, you haven’t seen anything. _Rex_. Rex is trouble. Rex is a lunatic.”

 Philip took a moment to drink in these words.

 “Who _is_ he?” Gately asked from her position beside the door, clutching a cold cup of coffee she appeared to have forgotten about.

 Wakefield fixed her colleague with a tired sort of gaze. “ _She_. Bit of posh from uptown. She’s only twenty-one, but she’s the most dangerous woman I’ve ever come across. If there’s something she doesn’t know, then it’s not worth knowing. And if she doesn’t like what she finds…it’ll make what Dogwood did to Weiss look like a gentle bit of tickling.”

 Philip nodded slowly, resting his chin on his hands, which were propped up by his elbows on the desk. His face was a mask.  

 “She’s absolutely loaded,” Wakefield continued. “Her father was something big in property investment-then he branched out. He owns the Royal Casino in the centre of town. I guarantee that’s where they’ll be based now. Saxon was a big mate of Papa Rex’s-he always made sure he was well looked after. He had been grooming her for leadership for years. Whatever we throw at her-she’ll be two steps ahead. She always is…”

 “How do you know so much about her?” Gately’s eyes were narrowed suspiciously.

 Wakefield swallowed hard. Then, with the air of admitting something unpleasant: “Because I used to date her.”

 Philip nodded once more. Then- “Is that going to be a problem?”

 Wakefield bit her lip. She looked almost anxiously around the room, as if expecting Rex to appear at any moment. “Let’s just say it didn’t end on the best of terms…Rex has a real knack for finding your weak spot and using it against you in the cruellest way possible. I will give everyone here only this advice: whatever security you have around your families, I would double it. Triple it. Because if Rex finds a reason to quarrel with you…there is no force on earth that could stop her from finding them.”

 Now, for the first time-Philip felt cold fear filling his heart. He was careful not to show it upon his face, but now, it was proving very difficult. “…What do you mean by that?” he asked carefully, hoping that he had misunderstood.

 Wakefield fixed him with a hard look that told him that she knew exactly to whom he was referring. “Rex is practically omniscient. You can bet your ass she knows about D-“

 “ _Don’t say his name_!”

 It was the closest Philip ever came to shouting. It was not a loud sound, but a hiss of such venom that Wakefield was silenced in less than a second. Philip’s ordinarily calm face was suddenly contorted with malice. His hands had clenched upon the desk in to fists. Even Gately jumped slightly at the noise, and Dogwood was shaken from his stupor, looking wildly about the room for the cause of the disturbance. But Philip ignored them both. His eyes, suddenly white-hot, fixed squarely upon Wakefield.

 “ _If you ever name him again, I will cut out your tongue_.”

 Wakefield cast her eyes to the floor, her face very red. She gripped the sides of her chair with both hands. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lester.” she murmured.

 For a moment, Philip was quiet. The atmosphere in the room was as thick as blood. Then, with some effort-he nodded for a final time. “Thank you, Wakefield.” he said, his voice as smooth as milk. “That will be all…” Slowly, he turned his head from her and inclined it in the direction of the fireplace “Ah, Dogwood. Has our other little issue been dealt with?”

 Finally, and certainly glad of a reason to do so-Dogwood smiled. “Sorted.”

* * *

_23 Woolf Street. Still Wednesday. 14:17_

* * *

 

 Phone.

 “Hello?” Daniel answered before it had rung more twice, pressing the phone so hard into his ear that it almost hurt. He tried to catch his breath, which had suddenly risen high into the back of his throat. Hanging in one hand by his side was a dustpan and brush, the contents of which had just been tipped back onto the floor.

 “Hello, Mr. Howell!” came a chirpy female voice from the other end of the line. “This is Alison Grant from the Castle Shakespeare Company. We met yesterday afternoon when you read for our winter production of Shakespeare’s _Hamlet_?”

 “Oh yes!” Daniel remembered her well-she was a small woman with bright red hair and an enormous pair of blue glasses magnifying her already overlarge eyes. She had sat on the audition panel to the left of the notorious Graham DeLaney. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch.

 “How did you think your reading went?”

 Daniel hated it when they asked this question. There was literally no right answer. Besides-his heart had already leapt up into his throat, which made speaking nigh on impossible. “Er…” he murmured unprofessionally. “I-I’m not sure!”

 “Well, we all very much enjoyed meeting you, and hearing you read.” the chirpy voice continued. “So much so, that…You’re on, kid. We’d like to call you for the title role.”

 It was only by the sound of the clatter that Daniel realised he had dropped the dustpan and brush. A second later-his legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed onto the sofa with a loud _flump_. His heart was beating so hard and loud, he would have been surprised if the woman on the other end of the line could not hear it. His throat felt as if it had swollen to twice its regular size, while his brain desperately tried to compute what it had just heard. Surely not? And yet…and yet it was undeniable that Grant had spoken…could it be true? Could it really be that he was, after so many years of work and rejection, _finally_ …?

 “Well?” came the chirpy voice once more, giggling slightly at his dumbfounded silence. “What do you think?”

 “Oh!” Daniel did his best to recover himself, trying to snap his tongue back into action. “I-I mean- _thank you_! Thank you!” Quickly, he buried his face in one shaking hand, an enormous, wobbly grin stretching across his dimpled cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m just-I’m just a bit in shock right now! But-but-thank you!”

 Grant giggled indulgently at him. “You’re more than welcome, my love. We’ve been in touch with your agent-I imagine she’ll go through the particulars with you very soon. But as far as Lydia and I are concerned, you’re absolutely green-lit and ready to start rehearsals on Monday!”

 Daniel felt a glorious shiver up and down his spine. His feet had began to tap on the floor of their own accord-he felt as if he could sing and dance all around the living room! But…still, something did not feel quite right.

 Oh God. It was terribly cheeky, really. But he had to ask.

 “What about Mr. DeLaney?”

 There was a short silence from the other end of the phone. For a moment, Daniel wondered if he had pushed his luck. Then- “Oh. Graham won’t be working with us any longer, I’m afraid. He’s taken on another project in Edinburgh, and will remain there for the rest of the season.”

 Daniel was more than a little shocked at this news. Mr. DeLaney, move away from the Castle Theatre? The idea was preposterous…and yet, by some miracle, he had. With another happy little shiver, Daniel decided that he was far too overjoyed to think much deeper upon DeLaney’s abrupt exit, when it had just won him _Hamlet_. Oh God, _he was Hamlet, he was Hamlet, he was_ _Hamlet_ …

* * *

_The same. 20:45_

* * *

 "I'm Hamlet!"  

 Philip heard Daniel before he saw him, rushing across the corridor-before he fell so forcefully into his arms that they were almost knocked flying. “I’m Hamlet!”

 “ _Yes_!” Philip cheered, dropping his coat on the floor so that he could hug him tighter. “Yes! I knew you could do it! Oh, Dan…” He grabbed his face in his hands and kissed him hard, over and over again. “I’m so, so proud of you!”

 “I just can’t believe it!” Daniel sounded almost close to tears as he quivered in Philip’s arms, talking extremely fast. “It’s just been such a long time coming, and I was certain the other guy had it in the bag, and I really thought that DeLaney would swing it this time-but he’s gone, Phil, he’s gone! It’s almost too good to be true! It’s like-it’s like all the stars have finally come into line!”

 “For you, I knew they would.” said Philip, his hand buried in Daniel’s curls. Not only was he beyond ecstatic that his Daniel’s dreams were coming true-there was a deep, personal satisfaction in knowing that he had a part in it. “You’re amazing, baby. You deserve this more than anyone.”

 Graham DeLaney had been a portly gentleman with a wondering eye. Even if Philip had not have known who he was, he was sure he would have taken an instant dislike to him. There was something incredibly smug about him, and it was clear that he spoke down his nose to everyone he met. He had even tried this with Dogwood, when he had rounded upon him in the car park behind the theatre that morning. Fifteen minutes with Dogwood, and DeLaney would have been ready to pack his bags and move to Mars, let alone to Scotland…in truth, he had got off very lightly indeed. Nothing some ice for the bruises and a splint for his nose couldn’t fix. But no matter about him now. All that mattered was Daniel, and his happiness. One look into those robin-bright brown eyes, glistening with excitement, and Philip knew that he would do all of it again, a thousand, thousand times.

 “Come on, then. We’re celebrating.” Philip kissed Daniel once more, before stooping to grab his coat from the floor. “Go and get yourself changed right now. I’m taking you out to dinner.”

 “Oh!” Daniel blinked a little in surprise. He gave a slight giggle at the forcefulness of Philip’s request. “Well-that does sound lovely, and thank you so much for the thought. But there’s a load of veg in the fridge that wants using up, and I was going to make us a-“

 “ _No_.” said Philip firmly, his voice beginning to take on a strange, deep, edge. “Not a chance. You’re not doing any cooking tonight. I wouldn’t dream of it. No…” Suddenly, and with not inconsiderable force-he grabbed Daniel’s ass in his good hand, pulling him close once again with his bad. He never swore…but there was just one word he reserved especially for Daniel. “You’re not doing anything at all, except going right up those stairs, putting on those tight black jeans-without the rips-and coming right back down to me. Then, you’re going to get into the back of the taxi I’m about to call, we’re going to go into town, and I’m going to buy you dinner-and a whole lot of champagne…” He leaned in closer, his voice little more than a carnal growl. “After that, I’m going to bring you right back here, and I’m going to tear off those jeans so hard that I’m going to _make_ rips in them. I’m going to tear them right to ribbons, and then I’m going to slam you right into that wall, and _then,_ finally, I’m going to fuck you…” He lent in and kissed him, growing more intense, more intrusive, by the second. He felt Daniel’s breath against his cheek as he let out a ragged sigh of pleasure… “I’m going to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to walk for a month…”

 Daniel had all but melted in his arms.

 “Do you understand?” Philip prompted him, kissing him one final time, this time, very softly.

 “ _Yes_ …” Daniel whispered, the last of his breath leaving him.

 “Well…why are you still here then?” Philip growled. Without another word, albeit with a small squeak of excitement, Daniel turned to run up the stairs as quickly as he could. It really was testament to his excitement-Daniel never voluntarily ran. As he went, Philip sent him off with a sharp, well-placed slap on the behind, which elicited another squeak. Then, when he was gone-Philip leaned against the wall, half in and half out of his coat, to think.

 It was wonderful that Daniel had the part, of course, but it presented its own complications. For starters, the Castle theatre was all the way across town-Philip would never, ever let him walk that far alone. Especially not before he knew exactly what Rex knew about him. He gave a grunt of frustration-perhaps Wakefield was right. Perhaps they shouldn’t have been so quick to get rid of Weiss…Could this Rex character really know about Daniel? Not even his own associates knew much about Daniel at all. Philip had been careful to ensure that none of them ever met him, so that there was no way they could give up any information about him under pressure-not his surname, not his appearance, not his place of work, nor anything that might lead to his capture. Dogwood and Gately did not even know his first name…Daniel could never be too secure, too safe, too far away from Philip’s world.

 There was no question of Daniel taking the bus either. It was much too exposed. No. Philip would have to organise a car to take him. Perhaps Young Charlie would do it. He owed him a favour anyhow…Young Charlie, a septuagenarian who had long since retired from the “business”, was the go-to driver for Philip and his associates. In his sleek black Mercedes, with the tinted windows in the back, he would be perfect for Daniel. Not to mention that Young Charlie was an old hand when it came to getting out of tricky situations. Despite his deteriorating eyes, the man was a frighteningly accurate shot...Yes. Young Charlie could be trusted to keep Daniel safe…but that was only one problem.

 He bit his lip. God, sometimes he wished he could take Daniel to a deserted island and hide him there, entirely protected, utterly secluded, completely safe from the outside world forever…

 But one thing was certain. As long as Rex remained at large, until he could neutralise her and her associates as he had done with Saxon…there was to be a new rule.

  _Rule Three: Daniel is never to leave the house alone._


	3. Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you all so so much for reading, and for all your kudos and your comments! I appreciate all of you so much. I do hope you continue to enjoy. More tomorrow <3 Much love xxx

* * *

 23 Woolf Street. Monday. 22:03

* * *

 

 “…not sure whether it’s exactly what they’re looking for yet, but I think I’m on the way there!” Daniel twittered happily through a mouthful of pasta. “I mean, I don’t just want to do an impression of Jude Law or Ben Whishaw, but I’m not sure I should play it too far out of the canon-especially as it’s my debut with the company. Oh, Phil, wait until you see who’s playing Claudius and Gertrude! You will absolutely lose it! I’m not allowed to say yet, there’s going to be a big reveal in the papers this week. I mean, if they were willing to cast an unknown as Hamlet, they had to be compensating somewhere else-and God, have they compensated! I can hardly contain myself working with them! I damn near lost it when- _Gertrude_ , shall we say-told me that she thought I was doing a great job! I swear you could have knocked me down with a feather!”

 From the chair beside him at the kitchen table, Philip nodded, smiling broadly. “That’s wonderful, baby. I’m so happy for you.”

 He found that he was watching Daniel speak rather than listening to each word he said. Daniel’s accent had taken on a slightly more clipped tone than usual, never dropping a single consonant, his vowels perfectly rounded out. He was sitting up straight in his seat, his posture impeccable, and he gesticulated rather more than he ordinarily did. This, Philip supposed, was the mark of spending all day in the company of actors and theatrical types. But it was the sparkle in his eyes, the way they shone as he spoke of his amazing first day, the broadness of his smile and the dimples on his cheeks. He had not seen Daniel look so completely happy in a long time. It warmed his heart like nothing else.

 “…hard to believe that it’s only a few weeks until we open!” Daniel gave a breathless sigh, biting down on a piece of garlic bread and grinning. “Oh, I can’t wait until you get to see it!”

 “I can’t wait to see _you_ in it.” Philip answered, smiling indulgently. “Fencing, wearing tights, chatting away to skulls, whatever the hell Hamlet does.”

 Daniel giggled at him, shaking his head. “I’m not going to be wearing _tights_.”

 “Shame.” said Philip, the corner of his mouth cocked up. “I’d have liked to see that…”

 Daniel rolled his eyes hugely, sighing-but his grin stayed firmly in place. “I’m so excited. I know you’ll be so proud of me.”

 “I’m already proud of you, babe.” Philip leaned over and kissed him, tasting garlic and pesto as he did. “I’ve always been proud of you. I’m the luckiest person in the world…” He kissed him again, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer, his chair squeaking as it slid across the floor. “I love you so much, you know that?” He kissed him once more, patting his curls, before gently stroking his cheek with one finger. “You know that?”

 “Yes,” said Daniel, snuggling contentedly into his chest. “I love you too…”

 Philip planted another kiss on Daniel’s hair, sighing heavily into it. “What did I ever do to deserve you, hey? So good, so sweet…my beautiful Daniel. You shall have everything you have ever wanted, everything you’ve ever dreamed of, anything in the world-I will make it happen for you. I’d do anything for you…anything to make you happy…”

 A long, comfortable silence followed. Daniel rested his head on Philip, and they listened to the ticking of the kitchen clock. Philip looked down at the amazing person in his arms, and felt invincible. He knew, no matter what-he had to keep him safe, had to keep him whole. He would spend his entire life looking after him, sheltering him from the evils of the world…

 A moment later-Daniel stifled a yawn.

 “Oh, baby, I’m sorry.” Philip said, combing his fingers through his curls. “Keeping you up like this. You must be exhausted. Let’s get you up to bed. Don’t worry about the dishes-I’ll take care of them for once.”

 “Are you sure?” Daniel asked, surprised-but grateful. He was beginning to look very sleepy.

 “Of course. You need to be well-rested so you can carry on being wonderful in rehearsals tomorrow.” Philip stroked his hair, giving him yet another proud smile. “I’ve asked Charlie to pick you up at eight-thirty again, so that you’re plenty early and nice and relaxed.”

 Suddenly, at these words-Daniel stiffened a fraction. He fidgeted in his seat, his mouth an uncomfortable line. For a moment, Philip wondered whether it was the early morning bothering him. Then-he spoke. “Oh, Phil, you really didn’t need to bother Charlie again…” he said, in a very vague tone.

 Philip blinked, confused. “He doesn’t mind. Said it’ll get him out of the house. Besides, he owes me a favour-“

 “But I can get the bus just fine.” Daniel insisted, a strange edge to his voice. “I look like little Lady Muck, turning up in that monstrous Mercedes. Tinted windows! I ask you. Besides…” He swallowed hard, before wrinkling his nose. “That Charlie gives me the creeps.”

 Philip frowned. He lowered his voice a fraction. “Charlie is there to protect you, baby, you know that. You can’t get the bus all on your own, and I can’t be there to go with you. You have to go with Charlie.”

 Daniel swallowed hard. He pressed his lips together, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Charlie sat outside the theatre all day. I could see the Mercedes through the window. It was like…it was like he was on _guard_ , or something. Did…did you put him up to that?”

 Philip was quiet for a moment. He couldn’t lie…but, equally, he couldn’t tell the truth. “He’s only there to make sure there isn’t any trouble. Just ignore him, babe. Get on with enjoying rehearsals.”

 Daniel sighed, biting his lip. “But _why_?” He wasn’t stupid. “What’s changed?”

  _Rule One: Don’t ever ask about what Philip does for a living._

 Philip was more than a little frustrated. He did not raise his voice, but it became soft and dangerous. “Don’t you understand that you have to be protected? If I let you take unnecessary risks, and something went wrong, and-“ He couldn’t even finish the sentence, for his heart turned to ice at the very thought. “Can’t you see that I have to keep you safe?” He cradled Daniel’s face in his hands. “I have to do everything in my power to make sure that you’re secure, and you’re shielded from anyone who would harm you. I love you so much…it would destroy me if anything happened to you…”

 Daniel’s eyes were very wide. His face had grown pale with fear. “…Is someone trying to-?”

 “ _Enough_.”

 Rule One.

 A stone cold silence fell across the room.

 Philip took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He looked down at Daniel, who had entirely frozen, like a rabbit trying to avoid detection in the undergrowth by a fox. He looked positively terrified. Guilt bit at Philip-he had not meant to frighten him. But how else was he supposed to get across the seriousness of the situation? In the same moment, he realised just how hard he was gripping Daniel’s face. Loosening his hold, he gently stroked his cheeks, sighing hard as he did so. “Please, baby,” he said, rather desperately. “I-I promise you’re safe. I promise that nothing is going to happen to you on my watch. I would die first…” Tenderly, he pressed his lips to Daniel’s forehead, lingering half a second too long. “Just-just go with Charlie. Just do that for me. Okay?”

 Daniel swallowed hard. He still looked incredibly scared-but, with only a little hesitation, he nodded. “Okay.”

 “Good.” Philip’s ordinary voice returned as quickly as it had gone. “Now, weren’t you off to bed? Go ahead-I’ll tidy up here, and follow you in a bit.”

 “Yes,” said Daniel obediently, getting to his feet. He seemed sturdy enough-but there was a slight tremble in his tone. “Goodnight, Phil. I love you.”

 With that-he was gone. Philip was left alone in the kitchen, listening to the ticking of the clock.

* * *

_Churchill Street. Friday. One week later. 19:39_

* * *

 The high street was crowded with late-night shoppers. They seemed to move as one unit, armed with purses and carrier bags, some clutching onto friends and others onto children to prevent separation in the throng. Up and down the sides of the road, buskers played guitars and violins, popular tunes of the day-but they were near drowned out by the din of the crowd. In their midst, camouflaged in plain sight, Philip walked smartly down the centre of the pavement, his long, black coat swishing behind him as he went. At his right elbow, Dogwood plodded along behind, a head taller than anyone else in the crowd and twice as wide. They passed the parade of shops, the fusion of world restaurants, endless tanning salons and nail bars and hairdressers. Ignoring all else, their sights were set on the imposing colossus at the very top of the street. The Royal Casino.

 Suddenly-Philip’s eye was caught by an enormous digital poster on the outside of a bus stop shelter. It showed a striking white skull on a glossy black field. Slipping from the head of a skull, there was a golden crown, and lying beside it-a goblet spilling burgundy liquid, staining the white bone red with poisoned wine. On the top of the poster, in an large serif font, there was a single word. “HAMLET”. Beneath, in italic letters, “ _Prince of Denmark_ ”.

 Philip stopped for a moment to look at it. Behind him, Dogwood narrowly avoided a collision.

 On the bottom of the poster, there was a list of names. The director and producer were named, along with several other members of the production team, the Castle Theatre logo standing boldly in the corner. But most of the space was taken up with three names. There was the highly acclaimed and lavishly decorated actress who was to play Gertrude. There was the actor who was to play Claudio, who’s latest BBC detective drama had won him his second BAFTA. Finally, between those two enormous names, in a slightly smaller font, just below…” _and introducing Daniel Howell_ ”.

 Philip felt an enormous surge of pride. To see Daniel’s name in such prestigious company, advertising to the world that he was to make his debut in one of the most sought-after roles in theatre, and in such an affluent theatre…It was incredible. Instantly, Philip grabbed his mobile and snapped a picture of the poster, sending it to Daniel with some brief words of love and support. He gave a happy sigh as he gazed up at Daniel’s name, until he had to be on his way. 

 But, as he continued on his journey, a surge of fear clouded his mind. Daniel’s name on a poster, Daniel’s real name…it had to be a cause for concern. He did not know how many other posters there would be around the city-surely dozens. Then, there were the flyers, the plugs on the radio (Daniel had, very excitedly, recorded an interview with his exalted co-stars only the other day), the theatre’s website, which was sure to be emblazoned with that same white skull and those same names…Philip felt a biting of dread in his gut.

 Still. Daniel was a very common name, after all. He doubted whether even Wakefield would make the connection between his Daniel and _Hamlet_ ’s Daniel…perhaps he ought not to worry about it. But it was nigh on impossible for him not to worry about Daniel.

 Five minutes later, Philip had come to a standstill once more. This time-it was in the shadow of the Royal Casino.

 The building was made of blinding white stone, with pillars stretching from the ground to the roof,  the word _Royal_ glowing in red above the enormous double doorway, in front of which a dark-suited security guard stood beneath a golden canopy. The place could have passed for a upmarket hotel, though what lay inside was quite different. Every window was hung with red drapes, so that no outsider could see who frequented the place. Philip gave a small snort. Though the building was clearly designed to be impressive, to be evocative of the Las Vagas strip…he could not help but find it tacky. So this was the home of the famous Rex...

 “Remember, Dogwood.” he said quietly. “First sign of trouble…”

 Dogwood gave a grunt of understanding, flexing his thick neck.

 Gritting his teeth, Philip took one step off of the pavement-

 Phone.

 Rolling his eyes at the timing, Philip reached once more into his pocket and swiped on the screen to answer the call.

 “Hello?”

 “Mr. Lester?” It was Wakefield.

 “Yes. What is it?”

 There was a short silence. In the background, there some kind of commotion on the other end of the phone. At first, Philip thought that it was just the crowd around him. But, as he listened more carefully-there were shouts. There was the sound of running feet. Then, finally…what was unmistakably the wail of a siren.

 “ _Wakefield_?” Philip demanded, his shoes just over the edge of the curb. Cars rushed impatiently past him, almost knocking him sideway. “What’s going on?”

 “It’s the Pen and Pipe, sir.” said Wakefield, her voice determinedly calm. The background noise was slowing beginning to dim. Whatever the turmoil was, she was walking quickly and purposefully away from it.

 “What’s happened to it?”

 “It’s…it’s on _fire_ …”

* * *

23 Woolf Street. Still Friday. 21:15

* * *

“ _Oh, thank God_!”

 Philip had barely crossed the threshold of the house before he was enveloped in Daniel’s arms. “Oh, Phil, thank God you’re safe!” Daniel sounded close to tears as he practically throttled him. “They’d blocked Austen Street off entirely. There was all this terrible smoke-I couldn’t believe it-then, I saw the pub on fire, and…” He gulped, pulling Philip tighter into him. “Charlie wouldn’t stop the car. He said I had to wait here. I’ve been pacing and pacing for hours, going out of my mind! Oh, Phil-“

 “Shh!” Philip hissed, looking cautiously around the darkened street. “Get inside. Quickly.”

 Obediently, Daniel scurried into the house, leaving Philip on the doorstep. His eyes fell on a large black Mercedes, sitting dutifully on the pavement, blocking the doorway to the house. He raised a hand in thanks and farewell to the driver, who started his engine immediately and drove off into the night. Without waiting to see Young Charlie off, Philip slammed the door behind him and turned every single lock, from top to bottom, pulling and shaking the door handle to ensure it was completely secure.

 From the bottom of the stairs, Daniel watched him with very wide, watery eyes.

 “What _happened_?”

 Philip did not answer. He was still for a long moment, his hand still gripping the handle. Then- “Did you open any windows, Dan?”

 “N-no.”

 “Are you absolutely certain?”

 “Yes.”

 “Has anything come through the door?”

 “Er-“

 Without waiting for a proper answer, Philip rushed to the side table in the hall, where they kept unopened mail. There were two envelopes inside, one white, and one brown. Very gently, Philip began to feel each one all over, checking for any sign of abnormality. They both seemed ordinary, so Philip threw them back down-but he could not be certain. “Don’t touch them.” he said, warningly.

 “What-?”

 “Just don’t touch them, okay?” Philip had already rushed into the living room. He yanked the sofa forward, exposing the shadowy area behind. Dropping to his knees, he took the black chest that was kept there in both hands and checked the lock. Everything seemed to be in perfect order. The slightest amount of relief coursed through him-but he could not relax yet. Getting to his feet, he yanked the curtains closed, casting the room into total darkness.

 “Daniel?” he called commandingly. “Get in here now.”

 In less than a second, Dan had appeared.

 “Sit there.” he said, taking Daniel by the shoulders and pushing him down onto the displaced sofa. “Don’t move until I tell you it’s safe.”

 “ _Phil_ -?” Daniel sounded close to tears.

 But Philip had already left. He dashed from room to room, rattling the window locks, shutting the curtains, switching off lights, opening wardrobes and cupboards wildly for any sign of something amiss. He checked each and every room twice, _thrice_ , ensuring that everything was exactly as it had been left this morning. Even in their two-bedroom terrace house took him a quarter of an hour to finally declare safe. Then, short of breath, he hurried back down to the living room.

 He did not dare switch the main light on. Instead, he knelt down and lit the small lamp that sat on the coffee table, softly illuminating the room. Finally, calm was beginning to settle inside the house.

 On the sofa, Daniel was crying quietly, his head buried in his hands. He was shaking all over with fright.

 “Oh Dan…” Philip whispered, his heart beginning to ache. “I’m so sorry…” He sat down beside him and wrapped him carefully in his arms. “I’m so sorry…” He drew Daniel’s head into his lap, letting him cry into him, rubbing his back in slow, comforting circles. As he looked down at his trembling, sobbing boy…terrible guilt seized him. How could he do this to him? “I’m so sorry…”


	4. Bishop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this has been posted so late-I've been so busy and this is a very long chapter! I hope you enjoy nonetheless. Thank you for sticking with me, and for all your comments and kudos <3 much love. More tomorrow! xxx

* * *

Actors' Studio, Castle Theatre. Wednesday. 14:00

* * *

 

 Daniel was exhausted-too exhausted even to make it to a chair. He simply flopped down on the floor, stretching out his aching legs and letting out an enormous sigh. Lunch break had been delayed by an hour while the director had kept them working on the graveyard scene, over and over again, until she pronounced it absolutely perfect. Daniel’s throat ached from repeating his lengthy speeches, his legs ached from standing for so long, and his head ached from stress and tedium. He adored his job, more than almost anything in the world. But now, he felt that he could quite happily seize one of the gravedigger’s shovels and beat Shakespeare up with it for making the play so bloody long.

 Around him, all dressed in black, actors were dispersing in small groups, chatting and giggling, more than ready for a cup of coffee and something to eat. Daniel remained seated on the floor, trying to summon the energy to follow them. For some reason, his muscles did not seem to want to work. God, he wished they were doing _Othello_ instead-at least that had a bed in it, and he could quite  happily have curled up on it for a nap…

 “Alright, Ham?”

 Suddenly, a young woman with a pixie face and short-cropped black hair plonked herself down in front of him, crossing her legs beneath her. She was wearing an enormous black jumper and leggings, which swamped her slender frame. Her large eyes were brought out by a lot of thick black kohl, and she was smiling with tiny, perfect teeth.

 “Hi, Lainey.” Daniel could not help but smile back at his Ophelia. Over the last couple of rehearsals, she had been making a real effort to bond with him, and he appreciated it very much. It was always nice to feel wanted.

 “Cor, that was grilling, wasn’t it?” Lainey said in her broad Essex accent, checking over her shoulder first to ensure the director was out of earshot. “Thought we’d be there all night.”

 “What are you on about?” Daniel scoffed. “You just have to lie dead.”

 “And I’m going to be the best damn corpse the Castle has ever seen,” she breezed, grinning. “Look, I’m bored of the sandwiches in the café here. Want to go to Pret?”

 Daniel swallowed, casting his eyes down. Pret was a ten-minute walk away, close to the centre of town. Ordinarily, it would have been nothing. But, with Philip near tearing his hair out each night and Young Charlie keeping watch outside…he knew there was no way he could go. He would never have been allowed.

  _Rule Three: Daniel is never to leave the house alone_

 “Er…” he said, pretending to consider. “Nah, I’m not really hungry. Don’t let me stop you, though! You go ahead.”

 “Rubbish,” said Lainey firmly, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him, with unexpected strength, to his feet. “Come and keep me company, hun. Pret, Pret, Pret!”

 “Oh no!” said Daniel as he was dragged away. “I really shouldn’t-“

 “What? Who says you shouldn’t?” Lainey giggled, throwing the door open in front of them and leading him down the stairs into the theatre lobby. “I know you’re the lead, but the chances of you losing your voice on the way, or getting injured by the wide and delicious selection of sandwiches and soups, are _incredibly_ slim. And so are you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Come on! Live a little!”

 Daniel hesitated, a rock of guilt weighing him down inside. If Philip knew that he was even considering going out into the world without “protection”…however, he couldn’t deny that he was sorely tempted. The idea of going into town alone was oddly thrilling-he felt almost as if he was bunking off school. Besides, spending time with his co-actors, especially the one playing his love interest, was vital to establishing on-stage chemistry…

 “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside the theatre!” Lainey was saying, linking her arm more comfortably through his. “You should come out on Friday, a whole bunch of us are going to Euphoria. It’s such a laugh-and jaeger bombs are always three for a fiver!”

 Daniel giggled slightly, the rock of guilt in his belly growing larger by the moment. But his head felt so rushed with the wrong-doing that he chose to ignore it. “I’m not sure it’s really my thing. Thank you for asking me, though, I really appreciate it.”

 “I don’t believe a word of it, hun.” said Lainey, making a beeline for the large, glass front doors. “I bet you’re hilarious drunk-“

 “Wait!” Daniel stopped in his tracks, forcing her to come to a halt. Through the glass, he could see the black Mercedes waiting outside. It reminded him of a large, metal guard dog. He was certain that this was exactly the sort of situation Young Charlie was positioned to prevent. Once more, the rock in his stomach seemed to double in size. “Er…can we use the back door, please? Sorry.”

 Lainey gave him a very strange look, her thick eyebrows knitting together. “I mean, sure…? You’re weird, though. What are you doing, trying to avoid snipers?”

 A quarter of an hour later, Daniel was sitting opposite Lainey inside Pret with sandwiches and coffee on the table between them. As he went to unwrap his lunch, Daniel found that his hands were trembling. He had never disobeyed Philip in his life. Still-there was a certain exhilaration that came with it. However, this did not entirely dull his sense of fear and wrong-doing. Every few seconds, he found himself looking all around the café, as if expecting danger at any moment.

 “You’re not on trial, you know.” said Lainey, taking a big bite of her wrap and watching him with some amusement.

 “I know.” said Daniel, grinning guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

 “Will you stop apologising?” Lainey pretended to look exasperated-but she winked. “So what’s your story, then? Let me guess: straight from boarding school to drama school, and now right into this job?”

 “Oh no!” said Daniel, shaking his head. “I graduated a while ago-and I’ve never been to boarding school! Whatever gave you that idea?”

 “Oh, it’s just your manner,” said Lainey, shrugging. “I figured it made sense. You act as if you’ve never seen the outside world before!” She took another bite. “You’re what my boyfriend would tactfully call _sheltered_. He went right through Brentwood School, then off to halls in Oxford, and came out the other side with a masters degree and no idea how to look after himself. Couldn’t even boil an egg!”

 Daniel rather liked her frank way of speaking-though he was a little surprised by her assumptions. She had said that he wasn’t on trial, but something told him that perhaps he was. Lainey was certainly trying to dig down to the truth of the matter. _His_ matter.

 “I thought you must have been the same,” she continued. “I looked for you on Facebook, _and_ on Twitter-and nothing! Are your accounts super private and hidden?”

 “I don’t have them.” Daniel replied, glad of something he could answer straight.

 Lainey blinked, apparently shocked. “Well…good for you, I suppose! I reckon I spend far too much time on them, anyway. Any particular reason why?”

 “I’m not allow-“ Daniel caught himself just in time. “I mean, I was just never really interested.”

 But Lainey was much too sharp to be fooled. Those eyebrows knitted together once more, and she fixed him with a very peculiar look. “What do you mean, you’re not allowed?”

 “I don’t-I mean, I am!” said Daniel, trying to cover his mistake with a long sip of coffee, which slightly burned his throat. “I just don’t have them.”

 Lainey narrowed her eyes. For a long moment, she was quiet. Daniel could practically see the cogs working inside her mind, beneath that crop of short hair. Then, she set her wrap down, and looked him directly in the eyes. “Got a girlfriend, Dan?” she asked, her voice deliberately casual. “Or a boyfriend, of course.” she added quickly.

 “Boyfriend.” said Daniel, smiling automatically, as he always did when he talked about Philip.

 “What does _he_ think about social media?” Her voice was very soft, but gently probing.

 “Oh, he’s not bothered about it at all,” said Daniel, slightly confused by this line of questioning. “He’s…old-fashioned, I guess.”

 “Mmm…” Lainey frowned once more. She picked up her wrap once more and started munching-but she was still looking at him very strangely. “What does he do, the _boyfriend_?” She said this as if it was a dirty word. It couldn’t be plainer that her assumptions had made her take an instant dislike to Philip.

 “Oh, er…” _Rule One_. Daniel swallowed hard. “He…runs his own business.”

 “Anything I’d have heard of?”

 “Erm…probably not.” Daniel answered, still feeling wrong-footed. “I don’t think many people would have-it’s not the sort of-I mean-“ He gulped again. “Yeah. Probably not.”

 Lainey snorted. “Well, _that_ doesn’t sound dodgy at all.”

 “He’s not dodgy!” Daniel said loyally. But, he felt he could not blame her entirely for drawing this, albeit correct, conclusion. “I get it though. My mum thought exactly the same thing. But it’s not true at all. He’s actually-“

 “Your _mum_ doesn’t like him?” Lainey asked carefully, folding her arms. Moment by moment, she seemed more certain of something. She had even started, slowly, to nod her head.

 “Well-not _exactly_ ,” said Daniel, feeling as though he was being cross-examined. “It’s not that she doesn’t _like_ him. She doesn’t really know him. I guess she just doesn’t like that I don’t get to see her that often because-“ Once again, Daniel bit his tongue a moment too late, cold fear flooding his mind as he realised that he had said too much. “Because of our jobs, you see. You get it, don’t you?” he appealed to her, rather desperately.

 But Lainey was nodding ever more rapidly. She tilted her head to one side, concern flooding her face. “Honey, has anyone ever told you to dump the whole man?”

 “ _What_?” Daniel was appalled, his heart beginning to thump in his chest. “No! Of course not! I could never, ever…I mean-“

 “I don’t mean to assume,” Lainey interrupted-though she did. “But what you’re saying about him, and the way you act-not wanting to be seen leaving the theatre, not being “allowed” to do certain things, never coming out with us, your mum smelling a rat-it’s pretty fucked up, hun…” She took another sip of coffee, staring at Daniel as if he said some terrible illness. “Seriously. Do you need help?” 

 “What? No!” Daniel shook his head in earnest. “Oh, Lainey, you’ve got the complete wrong end of the stick here! I’m-we’re fine!” He smiled, hoping that he did not look too desperate-for Lainey’s words had set his heart racing at break-neck speed. “Honestly. Look-hadn’t we better be getting back to rehearsals?”

 “Hmm…” murmured Lainey, draining her coffee. Even she knew when to back up. Still-those large dark eyes were very wide. “Look. Just promise me one thing, okay? Promise me that you’re safe.”

 Daniel’s heart was beating so loudly that he was astonished the whole café could not hear. But he kept his smile determinedly in place. “Yes. Of course I am. Don't worry. _Seriously_."

* * *

Starbucks. Churchill Street. Still Wednesday. 19:45

* * *

 Philip sat at the table next to the window, a cup of coffee warming his hands, watching the doorway of the Royal Casino out of the corner of his eye.

 Ever since the Pen and Pipe had burned down, Philip had been conducing surveillance on the casino, watching the comings and goings of all who frequented there. He saw all manner of people; staff members coming in throughout the day to clean and make ready for the evening’s activities, dancers and variety acts arriving for their shows-at exactly seven, nine, and eleven o’clock, Philip had learned-and, as the evening drew in, customers, dressed up in their finery for a night of fun.

 However. Neither Philip, nor any of his associates, had seen any known members of the enemy organisation coming, nor going, from the place. Neither had he seen anyone who bore any resemblance to the extremely detailed description Wakefield had provided of the allusive Rex.

 Under Saxon, their movements had been almost insultingly easy to track. Philip’s strength had always lay in his attention to security detail-this had been a great advantage over the arrogant and careless Saxon. But Rex seemed to have improved greatly upon her predecessor’s mistakes. It was a terrible shame, really, that the late Saxon had taught her so well through his failures as well as his successes. Philip snorted. He wasn’t going to get around to much teaching now, not from underneath the floorboards in the-

 Suddenly-Philip’s phone buzzed, making the entire table vibrate with it.

 “Hello?”

 “Mr. Lester?”

 Philip’s stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. It was Wakefield.

 “What?”

 “Come to the Pen and Pipe.”

 Philip blinked, confused. “There _is_ no Pen and Pipe anymore.”

 “Just come. Now.”

* * *

_Austen Street. Outside the remains of the Pen and Pipe._

* * *

 

 Philip’s heart ached as he looked up at the skeleton of his old headquarters. There were enormous holes in the brickwork, the glass in the windows all gone, the roof mere charred black framing. The bar downstairs was ashes, and every piece of furniture had been stolen in the days since, or had been lost to the blaze. The front door was still intact, though it had yellow and black striped police tape stretched over it in an enormous, forbidding X.

 “The police found traces of material near the letterbox. They’ve pretty much written it off as arson-reckon someone pushed a load of burning rags through the door.” Wakefield was saying grimly. “Stupid fuckers. Any five-year-old could tell you that no amount of flaming rags could have done this much damage. Clever of Rex to plant them, though…” She sighed heavily. Talking about Rex was always difficult for her. It was clear that those old wounds still hurt. “She always liked to play with fire.”

 “At least they’re not poking around too much at it…” said Philip levelly. There had been documents and evidence in the office above the bar that would have made life extremely complicated. “Why did you call me here?” 

 Wakefield swallowed. She lowered her voice a great deal, and gave Philip a very hard look. “You mustn’t panic, okay? You have to keep your head, and you’re not to do anything stupid. Got it?”

 Just her tone of voice was enough to make Philip feel nauseous. “What’s wrong?”

 “Well-it could well be nothing. It could be entirely coincidental, and I might have got it all wrong. But I thought it was worth checking out. It’s-it’s just…well. Go and look. It’s on the back of the door.”

 Philip stared at his associate for a long moment, trying to work out what on earth she could mean. Not to mention that he was extremely dubious about walking into a building that had recently been on fire and was probably not especially structurally sound. Still. There was a certain look in Wakefield’s eyes that made him think that he probably ought to take a look, just to err on the side of caution. Caution in situations such his regarding Rex was more than advisable.

 Feeling immensely wrong-footed, Philip made his way towards the front door, and, ignoring the police tape, pushed on the wood. Slowly, it creaked open.

 The pub was black with smoke, a greyish ghost of the old wallpaper pattern barely suggested on the walls. The bar itself had all but disintegrated-the alcohol must have burned itself up. The pool table was gone, probably stolen by locals, and every table and chair was missing, including Philip’s old favourite stool at the bar. There was only an empty square of ashy floorboard where it had once stood. He could not help but feel a little sad as he looked around. It was just a building, of course, made of wood and bricks, but it was as if he had just lost an old friend.

 Carefully, Philip pulled the door shut behind him. It creaked into place, groaning like an old man who was slowly dying. Perhaps it was simply the power of suggestion, as he was surrounded by the remains of the fire, but the old brass handle felt warm under his fingers, as if it was still recovering from the blaze. It was probably just his imagination…but there was nothing imaginary about what he saw next.

 There, on the back of the door, miraculously untouched by the blaze…or perhaps it had been placed afterward…there was a poster. A black poster. A glossy black poster with an crowned white skull in the centre, stained red with poisoned wine. At the top, in a serif font, there was a single word.

  _HAMLET_.

 Philip felt a terrible swooping sensation in his stomach.

  _Prince of Denmark_.

 The castle theatre logo sat proudly in the corner.

 The next thing he saw almost gave him a heart-attack.

 On the bottom half of the poster, in between the names of his exalted co-stars _…Daniel Howell_.

 Only someone, using a heavy red marker pen, had crossed the name out.

 Philip was immobile for a few seconds-or perhaps several years. All sense of time was distorted with horror. He could only stare and stare at the poster, at Daniel’s name, at the violent red slash through it…all at once, the terror of the threat-of course it was a threat-consumed him like a tidal wave. He couldn’t breathe. Questions, endless questions, ran around and around in his mind- _who had done this?_ Well-he knew full well. But _how_ could she have known? _How_?

 Without his specific instruction, his hands shot out, and he pulled the poster from the wall. He folded it up in his hands-which he realised were shaking-and stashed it in his coat pocket. It felt like an unexploded bomb.

 Somehow, he managed to open the door, and staggered back out onto the street, where Wakefield was waiting, her face extremely white. One look at Philip’s face told her that her hunch had been right. 

 “I…I’m so sorry, Mr. Lester…” she stammered. “I-I don’t know how this could have-“

 “ _Who grassed_?”

 That voice. It was little more than a whisper, but it echoed throughout the empty street.

 Wakefield gulped. “I-I don’t know! I wasn’t even sure it would be him, but it seemed like too much of a coincidence…” Quickly, she steeled herself, fixing him with a very hard look. “Mr. Lester, this is bad. I had no idea that he was an actor. His name is plastered all over the fucking town. If this _was_ her-and I can’t see who else it would be, unless he has any enemies we don’t know about-then not only does she know who he is, but she knows exactly where and when to find him.”

 Philip’s heart felt like a shard of ice in his chest. “ _Who grassed_?”

 Then, suddenly, horribly…it dawned on him. Yes. Of course. How could he have been so _stupid._ There was only one person who knew who and where Daniel was. Philip felt faint. If Daniel had already been hurt…or worse…it was entirely his fault. _Oh God_. He could not breathe.

 “ _Young Charlie_.”

* * *

_23 Woolf Street. 20:30_

* * *

 

 BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG.

 Daniel jumped out of his skin at the sound, dropping the knife he had been using to cut an onion with a clatter. Nervously, he looked in the direction of the front door, from which the deafening banging sound had come. Someone was knocking-though he had not heard such frantic knocking in his life.

 Living with Philip, he had learned to dread unexpected visitors. Philip never opened the door to anyone at all, and would tense up every time someone knocked-even if it was something as simple as the post, or a charity worker, or Jehovah’s Witnesses. Daniel had quickly picked up the habit, and had been to the package depot more times than anyone else on earth as a result.

 BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG.

 Daniel remained in the kitchen, staring through the door and down the front hall, silently pleading with whomsoever may have been listening that the person banging on the door would go away. He tried desperately to remember whether he had switched off the light in the front room.

 Suddenly, to his horror-the person on the outside pushed the letterbox open with their fingers, and began to call through it.

 “Dan? Dan, are you there?”

 Relief washed over Daniel. It was only Philip, thank God. Quickly, he rushed into the hallway and called back through the door: “Yes. I’m here. I’ll open the-“

 “No, _don’t_!” Philip called back. He sounded frantic. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Is anyone there with you?”

 “I-I’m fine!” Daniel shouted back, confused. Slowly, he began to feel panic setting in all over again. “Has something hap-“

 But before he could finish-the letterbox clanged shut.

 Terrified, Daniel pressed his ear to the door, listening as hard as he could. He could hear Philip’s running feet skidding from the doorstep to the pavement. Through the stained glass fleur-de-lis, he could just about make out the shapes outside. There was Philip-and a woman with purple hair Daniel did not know. He watched as both of these figures rounded upon the black Mercedes, which was in its usual place outside, like an enormous shiny guard-dog...

 Suddenly-Daniel gasped as the purple woman yanked the door open, and pulled Young Charlie out of his car. She slammed the old man onto the bonnet, holding him face-down, as he gave a grunt of pain and shock. He had begun to tremble with fear.

 “ _You old snake_!” Philip’s voice was barely recognisable. Daniel had never heard anyone spit words with such venom before. They seemed to light the whole street on fire. “ _You warped, twisted liar! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you_!”

 Daniel could only watch helplessly as the purple woman held the struggling Charlie down.

 “ _Do you work for her_?” Philip’s mouth was an inch away from Charlie’s ear. The old man whimpered-before letting out a cry of pain as the purple woman bashed his head into the bonnet. There was a terrible thud of bone on metal.

 “ _I want to hear you say it!_ _Do you work for her_?”

 A pause, in which the old man could only moan. Then, in a very small voice, barely audible to Daniel… “ _Yes_.”

 Philip let out an inhuman noise. He reeled back, his hands clasped over his face…before he straightened up once more. When he spoke-his voice was dangerously calm.

 “ _Wakefield. Take him to Dogwood_.”

 At this-Young Charlie let out a cry of terror.

 “ _Take him to Dogwood, and tell him to enjoy himself. Take it nice and slow. Tell him to cut out that dirty, rotten, black tongue first-the tongue that lied and betrayed. Tell him I want it given back to me in a shoebox, and then I’m going to throw it into the canal with the rest of this filthy traitor’s mangled old corpse, where it can lie forever with the rest of the rats. Now-get out of my sight, before I do it myself!”_

 It took the purple woman only a few seconds to wrestle the old man, screaming and begging for mercy, into the back of the Mercedes. Then, without a word to Philip, as if scared of him herself, she jumped into the front seat and started the engine. Philip watched grimly as the car sped down the street and into the night. Frozen with fear at the window, Daniel could see his shoulders moving rapidly up and down as he breathed heavily.

 Then-he turned back towards the house.

 Automatically, with what could only be described as animal instinct-Daniel found himself backing away from the door and towards the bottom of the stairs. He did not know where he was going. He only knew, from somewhere extremely primal-that he had to get away.

 “Dan!” Philip’s voice had returned almost to normal as he let himself into the house, turning all the locks behind him. “Are you alright? Oh God, how much did you hear?”

 At the sight of him, Daniel was overcome with a horrible mixture of love and terror. How could the man he loved, more than life itself, say and do such things? How could _anyone_ say and do such things? He did not understand. As he stared at him in disbelief, Daniel found that his legs had begun, of their own accord, to slowly edge, backwards, up the stairs.

 “Baby?” Philip’s face fell into guilty despair. He held up his hands, as if trying to calm a frightened horse. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, I really am. _That’s_ not me. _This_ is me-with you. I promise. It’s okay. It’s over now. I’m here. Everything is going to be alright. I’m going to keep you safe. I swear.”

 Daniel was struck dumb. He took another step backwards, shaking with fright. Tears sprang into his eyes, and begun to course down his cheeks. It was as if there was someone in the hallway, wearing Philip’s face, talking with his voice…but underneath, they were a stranger. _No._ They were far scarier than that. They were-they were a-

 “Oh _God_ …” Philip buried his face in his hands, letting out a deep, desperate sigh. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Please don’t look at me like that. Like-like I’m some sort of _monster_.” 

 Daniel let out a small sound that was half a cry, and half a whimper. Then-he turned, and ran up the stairs as fast as he could. He did not stop until he had reached their bedroom, slamming the door behind him and turning the lock.

 " _Dan!_ " Philip called from the bottom of the stairs, guilt-stricken and desperate. " _Please_!" 

 But Daniel did not answer. He sunk down to the floor, his back against the door, and sobbed. 


	5. Check

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you all so much for reading, and for all your comments and kudos. I really hope that you're all enjoying this. More tomorrow <3 much love xxx

* * *

 23 Woolf Street. Thursday. 09:30

* * *

 

 Knock.

 Daniel’s eyes fluttered open. Weak sunlight was streaming through the crack in the curtains. He found himself tangled in his duvet, spread out across the middle of the bed. Still dopey from sleep, it took him a few moment to realise what exactly had awoken him.

 “Dan?” came a voice from outside the door. “Can I come in?”

 Suddenly, all at once, he remembered the events of last night. As he remembered all that had come to pass-he pulled the duvet over his head and sighed. There was nothing he wanted to do more than roll over and go back to sleep and oblivion. Still…stubbornly, his love for Philip tugged at his heart, ever-present, ever enduring. He knew, sooner or later, they would have to talk this out. Perhaps it would be better to rip the plaster off now, so that-somehow-he could move on.

 “Y-yes.” he croaked, shaking his head to wake himself up. He slid off the bed, the duvet still wrapped around his shoulders, to unlock the door. But, before he could do so-there was a clicking noise on the other side. It took Daniel a moment to realise that Philip was picking the lock. He rolled his eyes- _typical_. But he was almost relieved at the excuse to snuggle back down into bed. If Philip could really have gotten into the room all night, it was to his credit that he had waited until Daniel was ready to talk.

 A second later-the key fell from the handle, and the door swung open to reveal Philip, still dressed in the same clothes as he had been wearing last night, having presumably spent the night in the spare room. As he looked down at Daniel, half-awake beneath the duvet, his face showed nothing but sadness and regret. “Morning…”

 Daniel sighed once more. He felt extremely awkward. Looking at the man he loved, but who had scared him so horribly last night, he felt torn between the desire to open his arms wide and hold him close, and to shout at him. “…Morning.” he mumbled instead.

 Philip kept uncomfortably to the doorway, leaning against the frame and folding his arms. He looked as if he was in physical pain. “…How are you doing?”

 “…I…don’t know…”

 Philip remained silent, looking at Daniel with very soft eyes. It was clear that he wanted to give him space to talk.

 Daniel swallowed hard. He could feel pressure behind his eyes-but he was determined not to cry again. Instead, he steeled himself, and prepared to say his piece.

 “Phil…we’ve been together for so many years now…For all of that time…I have let things go. I have let you keep your secrets, and turned a blind eye to everything you do behind the scenes, as it were. I have followed your rules, and I’ve stayed completely out of your business. I…I didn’t _want_ to know. Your world is so frightening, and if I think too much about it, I drive myself crazy worrying about you. I wanted you to be _my_ Phil-the person you are at home with me. That was more than enough for me. Do you understand?”

 Philip nodded wordlessly. Still, he let Daniel speak.

 “But…but recently, and especially last night…I’ve seen the other side of you.” Daniel blinked his tears back furiously, willing himself not to break, though his voice was very thick. “And…and you _terrified_ me, Phil. I-I didn’t think anyone in the real world could-could-“ He gulped. “Could do the things and say the things that you did and said in that street. And…and it’s made me think. I…I feel like I don’t know you at all.”

 Philip didn’t move.

 “I love you.” said Daniel, leaning forward. “I love you, and I will always love you. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I can’t imagine myself without you. But…” He squeezed his eyes shut-but this time, he could not stop a tear falling. “But we can’t carry on like this. And-and if something doesn’t change-I…” Now, he had to force himself to speak. “I…I will have to go…”

 Still, Philip didn’t say a word. But it was obvious just how much Daniel’s speech was affecting him. The area around his eyes was beginning to look very red.

 “… _I love you_.” Daniel repeated, struggling through his tears. “But I can’t be scared of you. I-I don’t want my children to be afraid of their father. I-I won’t live in fear…”

Now, his throat closed entirely. There was nothing else he could say. All he could do was cry.

 Philip was still for a long moment.

 Then, very slowly, he entered the room. With hardly a sound, he crept across the carpet, until he reached the bed. Finally, he knelt down on the floor. Very gently, he reached out his hand, and took Daniel’s. He held on, his fingers softly stroking his palm. For a second, Daniel was sure that he would burst into tears too. But then-he spoke.

 “I’ll stop.”

 Daniel was certain he must have misheard. Blinking hard to clear the mist from his eyes, he found Philip’s own blue ones, looking directly at him. He had never seen anyone look more serious in his life.

 “I’ll stop everything. I’ll retire. I’ll leave the business, and I’ll never have anything to do with it again.” He clutched Daniel’s hand tighter. “I swore I’d do anything in the world to make you happy. I’ll even do this, if that’s what it takes.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I love what I do. But I love you more, a thousand times more, and if it comes down to this, I choose _you_ , every single time.”

 Daniel hardly dared believe what he was hearing.

 “Dan, I can never apologise enough for what happened last night. You wouldn’t believe the lengths I have gone to, so that you would never see that part of me…the things I’ve done…” Now, he spoke as if the words were extremely heavy. “I’ve never laid hands on another person in my life, I promise you. But I’ve made others do terrible things for me. I’ve had them break, and maim, and even _kill_ for me.”

 Daniel visibly trembled.

 “But no more. I swear, Dan, I will stop. I will bury that part of me in the bottom of the canal, where it belongs. I will have Wakefield take over. Then, you and I will move far away, far from any part of my old life. We can go anywhere in the world, I don’t care, as long as you’re safe and happy.” He reached out his other hand, and held Daniel’s in both of his own. “I love you…”  

 It took Daniel a long moment to process what had just been said. It sounded far, far too good to be true. But, as he looked into Philip’s eyes, into his heart, he could see that he meant every single word. He was far too choked with emotion to speak. But, he reached out, and buried his other hand in Philip’s hair.

 With the biggest sigh of relief in the world, Philip reached up and covered Daniel’s hand with his own. “ _Thank you. Thank you_.”

 “You _have_ to stop.” Daniel choked out. “You have to tell me the truth-the whole truth-from here on out.”

 “I will.” Philip answered, bending to kiss his other hand. “I swear….” However…there was a strange look in his eyes. “But that means that I have to start right this second…Dan. I’m so sorry. But I’m going to have to tell you something scary.”

 Once more, fear bit at Daniel’s heart. “What?”

 There was no more deceit, no more lying. Philip held Daniel’s gaze for every word he spoke.

 “Baby, you’ve been threatened.”

 It was as if all the air had been knocked from his lungs.

 Slowly, Philip reached into his pocket, and pulled out a folded poster. Even before he had entirely unfolded it, Daniel knew what it was. The poisoned wine-stained crowned skull. The word _HAMLET_. The names of the stars. Then-

 As Daniel saw his own name, crossed out in red, he let out a violent, shuddering gasp.

 “I’m sorry!” Philip threw the poster aside, climbed up onto the bed and pulled Daniel into his arms, stroking his curls and trying to soothe him. “I’ve been dreading something like this. They’re trying to get to me through you. I’m almost certain this is just to scare me-they won’t really do anything to you-but I promise, no matter what, everything is going to be okay. I’m sorry. But now you know. You know that you must keep yourself safe, and you mustn’t take any risks. I’m going to make sure that theatre is more secure than Alcatraz, I swear. Nothing and no one is going to touch you.”

 Daniel was in shock.

 “Just let me sort this last thing out. I have one last enemy to defeat, one last score to settle. But when they’re gone-I’m gone. We’re gone.” He kissed the top of his head hard. “I swear. I love you.”


	6. King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you so much for reading, and for all your comments and kudos-I really appreciate it <3 I hope you are all well and happy. More tomorrow. Much love xxx

 

* * *

_Backstage. The Castle Theatre. Monday (two weeks later). 19:00 (30 minutes until curtain up)_

* * *

 

 Daniel carefully blended pale pan stick into his skin, evening out his complexion and ensuring that he would not be shiny under the lights. He found that his fingers were trembling slightly. Hoping that this would not end up making him look like a panda bear, he cautiously applied black pencil beneath his eyes, so that they appeared large and striking. His nails had already been painted a matte black by Lainey, for he had not trusted himself to do the job properly. He couldn’t help but give himself a quick smile in the mirror. Goth Hamlet was out to play.

 He had to admit, he adored the director’s vision for his costume and makeup. For the formal scenes, he had a sharp black suit that made him feel every inch a prince of Denmark. For the rest, he had an assortment of black hoodies and ripped black jeans, resembling the student that Hamlet was and reflecting his melancholy. For the final scene, he wore snowy white fencing gear, a mask to cover his face, and he carried a long, thin foil. It was this scene he was the most nervous about, but having just returned from the fight call before the show, he was feeling relatively confident.

 The previous press nights had been well-received. To Daniel’s relief, reviews had largely focussed on the much bigger names in the cast-Gertrude and Claudius’ performances had been raved about for paragraph after paragraph. Still, to his surprise, he found himself liked and praised-the only remotely bad thing anyone had to say about his performance was a particularly stuffy critic being appalled at Shakespeare’s Hamlet wearing nail vanish. This, fortunately, had been laughed off by all.

 It was going to be fine. Everything was going to be okay.

 “Knock knock!”

 Lainey had let herself into Daniel’s dressing room, grinning at his reflection in the mirror. Her simple green dress and ankle boots, decorated with flowers in a subtle nod to her fate, suited her well. Daniel much preferred the traditional long white dress, festooned with blooms and stained with grass, that she wore in the mad scene, but she did look very pretty, and he told her so.

 “Rubbish!” she said, swatting him lightly over the head-but she smiled and kissed the air above his cheek. “Break a leg, hun. You’ll be amazing, I know you will.”

 “The same to you.” Daniel gave an excited shiver. “I’m actually so nervous! I think I’m more nervous for this than press night!” He paused-then gave a small smile. “I think it’s because of who’s coming tonight...”

 “ _Ah_.” Lainey’s eyebrows almost disappeared beneath her fringe, wrinkling her nose, as her tone took on a dark note. “The Horrible Boyfriend.” 

 Daniel rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Lainey referred to Philip exclusively, no matter in what company, as “ _Dan’s Horrible Boyfriend_.” No matter what Daniel said, she refused to be swayed, wrinkling her nose every time he was mentioned and perking up every time Daniel said the slightest negative thing about him. He tried hard not to talk about him, but he cropped up so often in conversation that it was impossible. She did this so much so that other members of the cast had picked up on it, and “Dan’s Horrible Boyfriend” had almost become a cast joke. Whenever this happened, Daniel always felt terribly guilty. But he tried not to care.

 “You can come and meet him afterwards, if you like?” he said, hoping that actually coming face to face with him would change Lainey’s mind.

 “Pfft! No fear!” Lainey mimed vomiting. “Gareth’s dying to meet you, though…” She tilted her head thoughtfully to one side. “You know, he’s got this mate-Matt-who’s absolutely _lovely_. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, he’s gorgeous, hilarious, _and_ he’s an amazing cook. He’s single too! I could easily give him your number-“

 “ _No_ , Lainey.” Dan said firmly, folding his arms. As much as he loved her, he couldn’t quite comprehend how little she understood about him and Philip. Perhaps this was deliberate on her part.

 “ _Alright_!” She gave an almighty sigh, looking exasperated-but smiled quickly so that he knew she was joking. “Look, don’t worry about _him_ , or what he thinks. You’ve worked so hard, you deserve this-you go and be Hamlet for _you_. Have a ball. See you out there, hun. Love you.”

 “Love you too!” he called after her as she skipped out of the dressing room.

 Once more, Daniel took a long, hard look at himself in the mirror. On his dressing table, there stood a number of good-luck cards, some from the cast and crew, one from his parents, a good few from members of his family and friends that he saw not nearly often enough. Right in the centre stood the biggest card of all. It had no signature inside, but its sender needed no introduction.

 He took a long, deep breath, then slowly let it out. Right. He felt as if his stomach was full of _snakes_ , let alone butterflies. Still-every fibre of his being prickled with excitement. _Finally_. Finally.

 Then, he turned from the mirror, and from himself, and focused upon becoming Hamlet.

* * *

_Inside the Castle Theatre. During Hamlet_

* * *

_“I have heard, ._

 

_That guilty creatures sitting at a play_

  
_Have by the very cunning of the scene_

_Been struck so to the soul that presently_

  
_They have proclaim’d their malefactions;_

  
_For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak_

  
_With most miraculous organ…”_

  
From somewhere close to the front row, in the darkness of the theatre, Philip watched, rapt. On his left-Wakefield, apparently bored, was staring up at the ceiling. But Philip was enchanted. Perhaps it was because it was Daniel-or perhaps it was because it was Daniel. Philip knew that he was biased, but even though he knew very little about the theatre, it was unmistakable that Daniel was giving a stellar performance. His Hamlet was youthful, melancholy, angry, unstable, and haunting all at once. His voice was so suited to the poetry of the language, and it seemed as though he was born to play this role. Philip kept feeling shivers of fierce pride coursing through his veins. Daniel continued to surprise him with just how incredible he was.

  
Outside, Philip had placed sentinels at every entrance and exit to the building. Gately and Dogwood were out there, along with a dozen others Philip had hired, each heavier or more frightening than the next. Their presence no longer infuriated Daniel; rather, they made him feel safe. Philip was relieved by this. It had taken much reassuring, much comforting, many promises of security to make Daniel feel as relaxed and protected as possible, so he was able to do his job. He had paid a great deal of money to the theatre itself as a “gift” to ensure that they conducted more than thorough checks of each and every bag that came into the theatre. No one could possibly have brought anything dangerous into the vicinity of Daniel tonight. Well. Wakefield was quietly armed, but she was there to protect him. She was the final line of defence, just in case the worst happened.

  
Everything had gone smoothly so far. Philip was almost relaxed as he watched his beloved Daniel bossing the stage like an old professional. He could not, physically, be prouder of him. Nor could he love him more.

  
“ _The play’s the thing, in which I’ll catch the conscience of the King_!”

* * *

_The lobby bar of the Castle Theatre. 23:00_

* * *

  
“Phil! Oh my God, look at those!”

  
His scrubbed face glistening with triumph and wonder, at long last, Daniel appeared in the midst of the crowd. Most of the cast had appeared to greet their family and friends already, but Philip had been kept waiting for the leading man himself to emerge. He did not mind, however. It had given him a chance to nip out to the black Mercedes, stolen by Wakefield from the deceased Young Charlie, and to grab the outlandishly enormous bouquet of red roses he had bought for Daniel. All were the colour of red wine and blooming proudly.

  
“Oh, darling, you really didn’t have to!” Daniel’s arms were already full of two other large bouquets of flowers, a bottle of wine swinging from his hand in a silver bag, a box of chocolates under his arm; gifts from friends and family, and from the cast. But he looked delightedly at the roses nonetheless, his eyes rather misty with emotion. In one, smooth movement, he dropped the other bouquets onto a nearby table, set the wine and chocolates by their side, and threw his newly empty arms around Philip, squeezing him tightly. “What did you think?”

  
“You were astounding, baby.” Philip moved the roses to the side so that they wouldn’t get squashed, before kissing him. “I’m so proud of you.”

  
Over Daniel’s shoulder, he could see a woman with short black hair shooting him a filthy look from the bar, then turning to whisper something to her boyfriend. He was quite surprised to realise that this was the actress who had played Ophelia. Wondering vaguely what she could possibly have against him, he turned from her, and looked back at Daniel. He didn’t want to ever look at anyone else again.

  
“These are beautiful…” Daniel was saying, taking the roses from him and admiring them. From behind, out of the corner of his eye, Philip could see the actress who played Ophelia calling and beckoning for Daniel to join her.

  
“I think you’re wanted over there.” said Philip, nodding to the bar.

  
Daniel glanced behind him and waved-but he turned almost instantly back to Philip. “I’ll see Lainey tomorrow.” He stifled a yawn. “Right now, all I want to do is go home and get into bed with you.”

  
Philip felt a glowing in his chest, and leaned over to kiss him once more. It was a lovely thing to hear-and would also probably be the best move, security-wise. Still, for once, he tried not to think about it. He only wanted to concentrate on Daniel. “Alright. You go and say goodbye, and I’ll bring the car around.”

  
Daniel beamed at him, pink cheeked, and hurried off, still clutching the roses, to speak to Lainey and her boyfriend. With a grim sort of smile, Philip was left to carry the rest of Daniel’s presents back to the car.

  
The cold air felt pleasant upon his face as he exited the crowded lobby. It took him around two minutes to find the Mercedes in the carpark, in which Wakefield had gone to wait. The moment she saw him approaching from her position in the driver’s seat, she grinned, and pulled the key from the ignition and clicked the boot open, into which Philip deposited all of Daniel’s stuff, making sure the flowers would not be crushed and ruined on the journey. Then, he sauntered round to the front of the car, opened the door, and settled himself in the passenger’s seat.

  
“Sorry, Wakefield, I know Shakespeare’s not really your thing. Thanks for coming. You really made Daniel feel a lot safer. That, I am extremely grateful for.”

  
“Oh, it’s no trouble.” said Wakefield good-naturedly. “Some of it was quite good.” she teased.

  
“Only some?” Philip rolled his eyes, but he was happy to share a joke with her, since there was so rarely the opportunity. “Anyway, we’d better get going. I told Dan we’d bring the car around to the theatre. He just wants to come straight home-tired out, bless him…Come on, then.” He buckled his seatbelt into place, ready to drive off.

  
But Wakefield did not move.

  
“Wakefield?” Philip blinked, confused. “I said we would-“

  
Still, Wakefield was silent. She sat bolt-upright, staring straight ahead. Her eyes were extremely wide.

  
Then…as if cold water had been poured down his spine…Philip realised.

  
There was someone sitting in the back of the car.

  
“ _To die, to sleep_ …” came a soft, hypnotic, terrible voice from the back seat. “… _Perchance, to dream…_?”

 

_Rex._

  
Philip’s shock lasted only a second. Then-without so much as looking back at her-he dived towards Wakefield’s bag, to retrieve the knife she had hidden in there-but Wakefield had beaten him to it. In her hand, she held a long, thin blade, as sharp as anything. Philip had seen it cut dozens of throats as if they were butter. With any luck, they could finish the Enemy off right here and now-

  
But that was when-it happened.

  
In the same movement, Wakefield locked every door in the car with the push of a button. Then-she held the knife to Philip’s throat.

  
  
  
---  
  |  


	7. Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for reading, and for all your comments and kudos! I appreciate you all so much. I won't keep you a moment longer! More tomorrow xxx

* * *

_The car park beside the Castle Theatre. 23:10_

* * *

 

“… _Wakefield_?” Philip whispered, his voice ragged with disbelief. He edged back as far as he could in his seat, putting as many inches as possible between his neck and the blade-though she quickly closed the gap once again.

 “You shouldn’t have been so quick to do away with the old man, Philip.” Wakefield murmured, holding her knife steady. “Or perhaps you ought to have been more specific in your questioning. You asked: “Do you work for her?”” Here, she did a cruel imitation of Philip’s Northern accent. “When he said he did…he didn’t mean Rex. He was referring to _me_.”

 Philip was much too shocked to say another word. Wakefield, his most trusted associate, whom he had known for years, who had worked against Rex with as much passion and hatred as he had done himself…it was impossible. Absolutely ridiculous. And yet…

 “Who do you think set the Pen and Pipe on fire, then made sure you were the first to know?” Wakefield was saying, her tone gently caressed with pride. “Who do you think slashed Daniel’s name on the poster, then stuck it on the door? This was Charlie’s only crime-he told me who exactly Daniel was and where to find him. Did you really think a paper poster could have survived a fire that took down most of a building?” She gave a low, throaty laugh. “Then, despite all your careful planning, every piece of security you put in place to protect your beloved Daniel-in hunting Charlie down, you led me right to your own house! How stupid could you possibly be?”

 Philip’s heart was in his throat. His head was pounding, his mind was spinning…still, he could not say a word.

 “I turned from you the minute Rex took over from Saxon. I played the double agent role better than anyone ever has or ever will. You fell for me hook, line, and sinker, Philip. I didn’t want to serve a small-time like you anymore. I had bigger ambitions. I had _Rex_.”

 Philip’s eyes flicked up to the wing mirror. Through this, he looked into the back of the car, and for the first time, gazed upon the face of his Enemy.

 Rex was everything he had not expected. Far from being large, she was petite, an attractive face framed by long, dark hair that was curled and styled in side-twists. She wore a neat red cardigan that matched her scarlet lipstick, and a white dress with large red poppies on the full skirt, beneath which, she wore a frothy white petticoat. Her shoes were silver, with little heels, and in her pocket, she carried a box of matches. The moment she saw Philip looking back at her, she smiled, showing a lot of large white teeth.

 “Hello, Mr. Lester,” she said, her voice extremely polite, and rather syrupy. “I’ve wanted to meet you for some time…”  She tilted her head to one side. “I’m terribly sorry about all this bamboozling, sweetie, I wouldn’t want you to run away with the idea that I don’t respect you…” She let out a small, girlish giggle. “Therefore, I’m going to give you the opportunity to cooperate with us in a civilised manner. If you’re nice and sweet, and you don’t do anything silly, it will all be much better for you. Believe me…” She let a dangerous edge cloud her honey tone. “Do you understand?”

 Finally-Philip found his tongue. “ _Dan_ -“ he began, his voice no more than a rasp from the proximity of the knife. “ _If you touch him_ -“

 “You’ll stammer at us?” Rex gave another giggle, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “No, sweetie. _Dear_ Wakefield has told me that you rather have some trouble grasping this concept, so let me spell it out neatly for you…” She leaned forward. “ _The world doesn’t revolve around Daniel.”_

 Wakefield chuckled, the knife wavering by Philip’s throat.

 “Believe it or not, I couldn’t care less about Daniel. _Most_ people couldn’t care less about Daniel. You have been much, much too paranoid over the years where he is concerned. From what I have heard from Wakefield, I am gobsmacked that the boy hasn’t left you yet.” Rex continued, her voice very even. “I would have run a mile if I was in his shoes…” Then-she paused. “The fact that I don’t care about Daniel, or what happens to him, is a very lucky state of affairs for you at the moment. If you don’t cooperate, that can all change very, _very_ quickly…”

 Philip fell silent.

 “Now we’re all feeling a little bit calmer,” Rex said, clapping her hands together. “We’ve got _quite_ the evening planned for you, Mr. Lester. First, I think we ought to pay a little visit to the late lamented _Pen and Pipe_. I believe you have something rather important to me hidden under the floorboards…Go on, Wakefield.” She sat back in her seat. “Drive fast."

 As Wakefield obediently started the engine, still clutching the knife in her hand as she turned the steering wheel, Philip was glued to the back of his seat. He felt as if his head was being held under the water. Questions, endless questions, darted around and around in his mind like fish in a bowl. As they sped off into the night, on their way to the ruins of the Pen and Pipe, to exhume Saxon from where Philip had buried him under the floorboards, there was only one clear thought in his head:  

  _Where is Daniel?_

“Oh,” Wakefield added, as she pulled onto the main road. “And don’t bother trying to contact Dogwood or Gately. They’re dead.”

* * *

_Outside the remains of the Pen and Pipe. 23:30_

* * *

 

 After Wakefield had retrieved from the boot of the car a shovel and a pick-axe, she locked the car doors and, without looking back at Philip, walked purposefully over to the Pen and Pipe. She pushed on the door, letting it slowly creak open, and held it for her new master. Rex, on the other hand, half-skipped over to the ruin on her little heels, giving Philip a jaunty wave as she went. He had never seen anyone like her before in his life. To leave a hostage, alone, in the car, was something Philip would never have dared do. That took balls. But there was no time to be impressed.

 Instantly, Philip leapt into the driver’s seat, and tried in vain to start the car. Of course, Wakefield had removed the keys and switched off the ignition. Then, he hunted wildly around the car, trying to find a tool with which to break the window. Failing this, and feeling more desperate by the second, he tried to smash the glass with his fists. But it was no use. Young Charlie had installed bullet-proof glass years ago. Philip did not have a hope in hell. _Oh God_ …

 He sat still, trying to breathe slow and low. He could not lose his head. He had to remain calm. If he went to pieces, it could cost him his life…

 _Daniel_.

 Quickly, without another second to lose, for Wakefield would surely have broken through the glass by now, he pulled out his mobile. For a split second, he considered phoning the police. Then-he scolded himself for even having the thought. Of course he could not get them involved. Though it might save his life-he would spend the rest of it in prison. There, he was of no use to anyone-and Daniel would be left alone...

 Dialling.

 “Hello?”

 “Dan?” Philip whispered into the phone.

 “Phil?” came the voice from the other end. He sounded concerned-but it was clear that he was still on a high from his performance. “Where are you? You disappeared!”

 “Never mind that now.” he said, holding the device so tightly that it wore grooves in his hands. “Dan, where are _you_?”  

 “Oh, I’m really sorry!” Dan explained guiltily. “When you didn’t appear, I got scared, standing outside the theatre on my own. I kept thinking about Rex, or whatever her name is, and I was so frightened that I got a taxi home. I’m there now. I hope you don’t mind.” He paused for a second. “What’s wrong?”

 Philip bit his lip. “Okay. You have to listen to me carefully, and you have to stay very calm. Wakefield-the woman with purple hair-is a traitor. She works for Rex. They-they’ve got me trapped, and-and I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

 There was silence for a long moment. Then-a cry of terror.

 “Baby?” Philip spoke through his teeth down the phone, more frantic by the moment. “Don’t panic. You have to listen to me. There is a chance they could come to our house. Wakefield has already mention it, and I would be very surprised if we do not wind up there. But-Dan, _listen_!” he said more sharply as he heard a horrified gasp. “Do _exactly_ as I say. You have to take yourself upstairs, and you have to hide. You stay hidden, and you don’t come out for anyone or anything. No matter what you hear, no matter what you think is happening, you _must stay hidden_. Do you understand?”

 He could hear Dan’s ragged, gaspy breathing. It was clear that, despite what Philip had said, he had all but lost it. “ _Phil_ -?“ he choked out.

 “Dan!” Philip half-shouted down the phone. “Promise me you’ll do as I say! _Promise me_!”

 There was a short silence, while Daniel tried to gather himself. He had started to cry-but the seriousness of the situation finally got through to him, and he spoke: “ _Y-yes! But-but Phil_ -?”

 “It’s okay!” Philip tried to make his voice sound steady and secure. “Everything is going to be okay, I swear. You just have to keep yourself hidden.” He sighed hard, clasping his hand over his mouth. “I love you, baby. You hang in there.”

 “ _I-I love you too_!” Daniel sobbed back. Those words always sent a calming feeling coursing through Philip’s veins. Even now-he was more than relieved to hear them. He had to find a way back to Daniel. There had to be a way out. There was _always_ a way out…there had to be something he could do…but for now, all he could do was make sure that Daniel was protected.

 “One more thing. Listen to me very carefully…” Philip hesitated for half a second-before speaking once more. He could not believe that he was doing this…but there was nothing else. This could be the difference between life and death…“On top of the fridge, there’s a box. In the box, there’s a key.”  

 “A-a _key_?”

 “Yes. I want you to take the key through to the living room. Then…”

 _“_ What _?”_

_Rule Two: Don’t ever, ever…_

 “I want you to open the chest behind the sofa.”


	8. Checkmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO I AM SORRY! I AM THE WORST! 
> 
> I'm so sorry to leave you hanging-I'm never usually so bad at updating, and certainly never leave things so long without an explanation. My life suddenly got kicked to fifth gear at school, I'm really sorry. Will never happen again! I really hope you will forgive me. Please enjoy this chapter. FINAL CHAPTER TOMORROW! Much love and thank you so much for sticking with me <3 xxx

 Daniel watched in horror as Philip rang off without saying goodbye. Perhaps his captors had returned…he could not imagine what kind of horrible things they might be doing to Philip right at that very moment…his entire body had begun to shake. Allowing the phone to fall onto the sofa cushions beside him, he clapped both hands over his mouth to suppress the wail forming behind his lips. He had thought he had known true fear. He knew nothing at all.

 Half-blinded by tears, Daniel stood, frozen to the spot, entirely unable to move. Every second that passed, every second in which he did not know where Philip was, what was happening to him, whether he was even still alive…he pressed his hands harder over his mouth, muffling the cries that were trying to spill out with all their might. Instead, a strangled string of terror escaped through his fingers…

  _Don’t panic…keep yourself hidden_ … _open the chest_ …

 Philip’s words rose once again from the frenzied haze of his mind.

 Quickly, Daniel rubbed his eyes hard, taking deep breaths, concentrating on nothing but the rise and fall of his body… _in…out…in…out…in…out_ …Gradually, his trembling hands began to steady, and the worst of the initial panic began to clear. _Okay_. He could do this. Everything was going to be alright. Philip had promised…he just had to keep his head. And he had to open the chest.

 A dreadful pang hit him right in the gut as he made his way towards the fridge, furiously wiping tears from his cheeks. To break a rule he had lived under for years felt intensely wrong, even under the circumstances-but he gritted his teeth. He had to be brave.

 It was the work of a few seconds to locate the small wooden box Philip had indicated on top of the fridge. All the time he had spent in this kitchen, and he had never known that this box existed…the key to the chest of his curiosities had been hiding in plain sight for all these years…nervously, his belly still churning with old guilt and wrong-doing, he carried the box through to the living room. Carefully, he prized it open, and looked inside.

 The box was empty.

 As he stared in disbelief down at the bare wooden bottom of the box, Daniel felt the first strains of sheer panic beginning to take hold once again. Horrified, he dashed back through to the kitchen, the box still clutched in his hands, and checked the top of the fridge again. No. This was the only box…

 In the heat of his confusion and terror, he threw the box onto the table, frustrated and once more on the verge of tears…but-just then…he heard a rattling noise. The sound of metal upon wood…

 Instantly, Daniel retrieved the box, fumbling with it in his hands for a moment, before shaking it hard. Sure enough, the sound came once more. There _was_ something inside the box…but it was empty…

 Suddenly-inspiration struck. Without a second to lose, Daniel tipped the box upside down and shook it as hard as he could. There was a great crash as a flat wooden oblong, the exact dimensions of the box, fell onto the table-and half a second later, a single key landed on top of it. The box had a false bottom. What a stroke of genius…but Daniel had no time to marvel now. He closed his fist around the key and ran into the living room.

 With a groan, he pulled the sofa out to reveal the famed chest that sat behind it. For the first time in his life, he lifted it up and placed it carefully onto the coffee table. With a deep breath, and a swooping feeling in his stomach, he pushed the key into place and twisted it, first right, and then, finally, left.

 It clicked open.

 Daniel closed his eyes. He felt his way around the chest, and, without looking, pulled the lid open. Instantly, a stale, musty smell hit his nostrils…Slowly, with a seemingly Herculean effort…Daniel opened his eyes and looked inside.

 He gasped.

 Staring back at him, shining in perfect silver, was a terrible thing. Something Daniel had hoped never to come so close to in his life-let alone, as Philip clearly intended, use. A small, yet perfectly deadly, hand gun. Engraved upon the handle-an ornate and definite "S". 

* * *

 Philip was silent as he was driven through the streets. He knew perfectly well in which direction they were heading-Woolf Street grew nearer with every passing minute. There was a mounting dread in his heart. Never, ever, had he intended his work to come so close to Daniel. When he thought of all he had done to protect him, it was agonising to see it all burn down before his eyes. God knew what was about to happen to him-but all he could think of was Daniel.

 Still. Perhaps, in the contents of the chest, he had bought Daniel a lifeline. He prayed he would not have to use it. But, if the time came, it could be the difference between living and dying.

 The air inside the Mercedes was newly soured-so much so, that Rex, who sat in the back seat of the car and therefore was in the closest vicinity to the source of the odour, sat with a handkerchief pressed delicately over her nose. Bad smells were the least of Philip’s problems, but still-it was an unpleasant reminder as to what, exactly, currently lay in the boot, rolled up in a blanket and dressed in the clothes he had died in. Albeit, since the fire, he was slightly more ashy than he had started off his life as a corpse beneath the Pen and Pipe. Still, unmistakably, though decomposition had begun to set in…it was Saxon.

 Why now, Philip wondered. Why now had they chosen to exhume Saxon? There had to be a reason…still, as of yet, he could not fathom it.

 Perhaps he would never know.

* * *

 CRASH.

 Daniel bit down hard upon his sleeve as a deafening crash sounded below. The front door must have been kicked in. There was a smashing of breaking glass; the Fleur-de-lis had disintegrated, and lay in pieces on the floor of the hallway.

 Footsteps. In his hiding place, Daniel trembled all over. The gap beneath the spare bed was quite too small, but discomfort was a small price to pay to feel a little more safe from the carnage below. Daniel could scarcely move-but he was well-hidden, just as Philip had commanded.

 By his side, carefully and timidly placed upon the floorboards, lay the gun. It was far enough from him that there was no chance of his accidently touching it-but still just about in arm’s reach. Daniel shivered to look at it. The thought, the thought of using it…it was almost too much for him to bear. He looked away, still biting upon his sleeve, and thought of Philip. Against the boards, his heart was beating so painfully hard that he was amazed the whole house did not shake.

* * *

 Held fast in Wakefield’s clutches, the knife at his throat, Philip was frogmarched into the living room. The sofa was noticeably misplaced-Daniel must have retrieved the gun. This small relief was little comfort to him-but little was all he could hope for.

 “Right,” said Rex, sitting down in the armchair and folding one leg neatly over the other as if this were her own house. “Very clean, this place. Lovely. You are to be congratulated on your housekeeping, Mr. Lester.” Her red smile widened. “Or perhaps it is dear Daniel to whom we owe our commendations? Is he the domestic god around here?”

 Philip struggled violently-but Wakefield held on fast, bringing the knife a few millimetres closer to his skin.

 “Ah yes,” Rex said, as if Philip had just reminded her of something. “I think the time has finally come to discuss Daniel…I think we should start with the basics. How much does he know?” She raised a thin eyebrow.

 “ _Nothing_.” Philip hissed. “ _He doesn’t know anything. I made sure of that_.”

 Rex did not look convinced. “Oh, I’m quite sure you did, sweetie. But I think you do the boy a disservice by assuming that he has remained as ignorant as you would have him. I would have thought it nigh on impossible for him to pick up on nothing at all. Unless he is especially dim-witted.” With a sigh, she got to her feet, and began to walk calmly towards the hallway, her heels clacking on the floorboards. “I suppose we could always ask him ourselves. _Daniel_?” she called, echoing up the stairs. “Daniel, sweetie?” Her voice took on a childish tone. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

* * *

 From beneath the bed, Daniel barely muffled a whimper.

* * *

 “ _He’s not here_.” Philip hissed, his fists clenched. “ _He’s out with the cast. He’ll be out all night_.”

 Rex gave a tinkling chuckle. “Oh, I don’t believe it for a second. As if you would ever let him out of your sight.” She turned back to the hallway. “Daniel, sweetie? Where are you hiding? Coming, ready or not!” Rapidly, she stamped her feet on the floorboards, as if she was running up the stairs. At this, Philip jumped out of his skin and made to cry out-which made Wakefield chuckle as she restrained him.

 “I think that just about confirms things.” she said, pulling Philip closer to her. “Daniel’s upstairs.”

 Philip’s heart had never been so cold.

 Rex looked triumphant. Once more, she called out. “I know you’re up there, Daniel. I want you to listen very carefully. I have Philip with me. He’s restrained-but he’s completely unharmed. If you come downstairs right now, I promise we won’t hurt him. All you have to do is trot on down to us, and we’ll let him go.”

 All the breath left Philip’s body. Once more, he made to cry out-but Wakefield slammed a hand over his mouth.

* * *

 _No matter what you hear, no matter what you think is happening, you must stay hidden_.

 Hot, wet tears coursed down Daniel’s cheeks.

* * *

 “Daniel?” Rex called again. “Do you understand me? I can’t hear you coming!” Once more, her voice took on the sing-song childish tone. “If you don’t come down, I’m coming up! I’m coming to get you!”

Once more, Philip redoubled his efforts to break out of Wakefield’s grasp. Newly enraged, he almost managed it-but she was much too strong, and the knife much too close. He did not know what sort of game Rex was playing-but one thing was certain. “ _If-you-touch-him-“_

 “I’ll do what I like to him,” said Rex, as casually as if they were merely discussing the weather. “After tonight, I’ll do what I like to anyone and everyone…” With a theatrical sigh, she called up the stairs once more. “I’m waiting for you, Daniel!” Then, she turned back to Philip.

 “Do you know why I have brought you here tonight?”

 Philip shook his head, never breaking eye contact for a second.

 Rex took a step towards him. “I want what is mine. I wanted Saxon’s body-and now I have it. Now-I want something else of Saxon’s. I want what you stole from him when you stole his life away. I want you to give it to me.”

 Suddenly, like a tidal wave-Philip understood. Of course. What else? How could he have been so stupid?

 “I want Saxon’s gun.”

 Philip swallowed hard. Then-he steeled himself. “ _I don’t have it_.”

 “Yes you do.” said Wakefield traitorously. “I saw you take it when Gately killed him for you. I saw you hide it in your jacket and take it home. It’s somewhere in this house.”

 “Enough with the lies, Mr. Lester,” said Rex sweetly. “Give me the gun. _Now_.”

 Philip fell silent. He took one last, long look at Rex, thinking on how he loathed her-and yet, in a strange way-respected her. She was everything Wakefield had promised and more. A true protégé. She was far better than he would ever be…

 Philip closed his eyes. He conjured Daniel’s face, and held it in his mind’s eye. There was no  room for anything else.

 “Give me the gun.” Rex repeated, from somewhere far away. “Or I will kill you, and I will search this house until I find it. Then, I will use it on Daniel.”

 Philip kept his eyes closed. Very slowly, far too slowly for anyone to notice, his fingers began to inch downward.

 “Mr. Lester?” Rex prompted him. “I’m going to give you thirty seconds to tell the truth. That’s all you afforded my Weiss. Thirty seconds for a man’s life…” There was the clicking sound of a watch being set. “Twenty nine…twenty eight…”

 Very, very slowly, Philip reached his hand into his pocket. His fingers groped in the lining, until they found a small, cold, sharp shape. The scar on the palm of his hand tingled as he thought of Weiss, and his concealed weapon. Never let it be said that Philip did not learn from his mistakes…

 “Sixteen…fifteen…”

 His fingers closed around the razor. It wasn’t much-but it was his only hope.

 “Ten…nine…”

 He scraped the blade against the lining until it came free…

 “Five…four…three…”

 Slowly, so slowly, he lifted.

 “Two…on-“

 BANG.

 A gunshot.

* * *

 The whole thing had happened in less than a second. One moment, Rex had been standing, talking. The next-her body had crumpled, like a marionette with its strings cut, and with a crash and a flump of petticoat, she hit the floor. Slowly, then all at once-blood began to pool around her head, matting her hair and staining her pale skin red. A think trickle of blood emanated from her ear-and then, grotesquely-the lifeless body choked a mouthful of blood out from between her still-parted lips.

 Philip blinked rapidly. _Where-how_ -?

 And that was when he saw him.

 In the doorway, dressed in black and tear-sodden, with Saxon’s gun held in his outstretched, shaking hands-Daniel. As he looked down at the woman he had just killed…a great, shuddering sob escaped him.

 Philip was in complete and utter shock. He kept blinking, as if expecting the scene before his eyes to rearrange into something more logical. Rex dead…Daniel with a gun…it was too impossible-and too miraculous-to be possible…

 Without thinking, without any idea what on Earth he was going to say-Philip opened his mouth.

 “ _Dan_ -?”

 Then-the pain came. Coldness, sharpness-then pain. Sharp, wet, close pain. Worse than anything he had ever felt in his life. It was as if someone was holding a naked flame to his throat, burning his skin…

 With a flourish, Wakefield removed the knife from Philip’s throat.

 Blood gushed. The world blurred before his eyes, becoming a wash of indiscriminate colour. Why had he never appreciated just how colourful the world was? He had been too rash, too foolish…he knew himself to be falling, but he could no longer feel. When he hit the floor, no more pain came.

 He was vaguely aware of a black shape running towards him, the sound of screaming…but then, gloriously…nothing.

* * *

 Wakefield pocketed the stained knife, stepping over Philip and pushing Daniel out of the way. She closed her ears to his screams. The sound of them was terrible-the sort of sound that did not belong to this earth. Pure horror, pure grief. The gods themselves shook to hear. Even she could not bear to listen.

 She left the scene, walking quickly and calmly towards the Mercedes. She unlocked the car, and rummaged in the glove compartment until she found what she was looking for. A small can of petrol. And a box of matches.

 This, exactly, would have been what Rex had done. She did not allow herself to feel grief for Rex yet. That would have to wait. Now, there was a mess to clear up.

 Carelessly, Wakefield made her way back to the door. She could hear the sounds of Daniel trying desperately to revive Philip in the front room, but once more, she closed her ears. Even if Philip was not beyond hope-he soon would be.

 She strode into the house, and began to pour measures of petrol all over the hallway. On the rug-on the side table with the post, and then, up and down the staircase. Just as nonchalantly as before, she stepped carefully onto the doorstep.

 There, Wakefield lit a match. Then, she threw it.

 Instantly-the rug in the hallway ignited.

 She lit another. The side table caught fire.

 Two more. The stairs went up in flames.

 Once she was certain the fires were blazing…she sauntered back to the Mercedes. Without a single look back at 23 Woolf Street, she turned the key in the ignition. Then, she sped off into the night.


	9. The Empty Board

Light.

Somewhere, far in the distance, there was a light. It was incredibly faint...but nonetheless, a tiny glow. A brilliant mixture of red and orange, with the merest hint of yellow, like a dreamy watercolour across the evening sky...there was warmth too. A wonderful sense of peace and cleanliness. As if nothing bad could possibly happen ever again...

“ _Phil._..?”

A voice. Much further away this time. Somewhere far beyond the sky, past the light source and into the beyond. It was distorted even beyond recognition. Still...somehow, the voice was familiar. It was as if, perhaps in another life, he had heard it before. It was warm, too, as warm as a the gentle glow in the distance...he wanted to go to that voice. He wanted to find it, to seek it out in this daydream haze...it would be easy, too. Going to the source of the voice was the easiest thing in the world. All he had to do, was close his eyes...

Slowly...as if they had been glued together with warm toffee...he opened his eyes. Nothing came into focus-but the light was there. Bright light. Too bright. He closed his eyes once more, squeezing them shut to shield them from the rays. The dreamy haze was gone-this was a harsh, clinical dazzle. He kept his eyes shut, hoping to return to dreams...

“ _Phil_?”

All at once-he became aware of someone. Someone was very close...someone...someone was holding his hand...

“ _Phil? Come back. Wake up. I’m here. I’m here._ ”

Suddenly-the world was in technicolour once more. Gunshot...there had been a gunshot-and-and pain. Such pain...and-and-

Philip’s eyes shot open.

“Phil!” Daniel’s voice was as clear as anything. His warm hands around Philip’s own one was the only real thing in the world. That-and the pain. Burning, intense pain...red raw at the front of his neck...

Wakefield.

Philip opened his mouth to speak-but no sound came. There was only a sharp, scalding sensation in his throat-and a thin, dry rasp.

“Oh Phil!” Daniel’s face came into focus at last. He was crying-but there was a huge smile on his face. Instantly, he leaned down and kissed Philip’s hand, again and again. “Don’t try to speak, darling.” Daniel said, his voice filled with relief. “You’re in hospital. They said you wouldn’t be able to-not for a while, anyway. But they saved you. Thank God, thank God...” He kissed him once more, hot tears falling onto Philip’s skin. It was only then than Philip could properly take in Daniel’s appearance. His hair was sooty, and in disarray. His face was grey with smoke, and, most horribly of all-one arm was bandaged. Beneath, the skin was scalded red. His voice, too, rasped with inhalation of thick, dirty air. 

“The house is gone, sweetheart,” Daniel explained breathlessly. “It burned to the ground. It-it burned me too...But I got you out. I got us out. I dragged you onto the street, and I tied my shirt around your neck to stop the bleeding. Then-then I called 999.” He stopped for a moment, squeezing Philip’s hand tighter. “I’m sorry. The police had to get involved.”

Philip’s heart turned to ice.

“But its okay!” Daniel insisted, smiling once more. “I explained everything. Well...” He lowered his voice. “I pinned everything on Rex and Wakefield. I said _Wakefield_ shot Rex, and took the gun with her...I hid the real gun, don’t worry. Then...I lied my little head off.” He could not help but grin. “All that drama school has to be useful for something, hey?  I told them Rex had threatened us-looked bloody well like it to the police. I cried a bit-they liked that.” He squeezed Philip’s hand again. “You would have been so proud of me...You’ll have to make a statement too, I'm afraid-just back me up, you’ll be fine. And, as long as you comply, they've promised us protection from anyone who might want revenge. Everything is going to be fine, darling, I promise. This time,  _I've_ taken care of it. _I've_ protected you. _I've_ kept you safe.”

Philip stared at Daniel, as if, once again, he was seeing him for the very first time. He couldn’t help himself. Never, ever, would he have believed he could be so clever, and so brave. Not only that. So sneaky, so deceptive. Almost...almost as if he were in the business himself...

Of course, Philip couldn’t say anything. But, finally, his eyes filled with tears of pride and love, and he clutched Daniel’s hand as hard as he could.

Fortunately, Daniel seemed to understand, as he leaned up to kiss his forehead, his lips warm and filled with hope. “I love you too. As soon as all this is over, we're going away. Just like you promised. And we’re never, ever coming back..."

* * *

_The outskirts of London. 00:00._

* * *

Wakefield shovelled the last of the dirt into the shallow grave she had dug. She hoped that Rex would not have minded sharing a grave with her beloved Saxon. Still, beneath the earth, the stench from Saxon’s corpse had finally been mollified.

Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she leaned back on the handle of the shovel, and considered her predicament. Her idol Rex was dead, buried in the earth at her feet. Lester, her fallen master, was lying in a mortuary with his neck open, somewhere in the town she’d left behind. As for Daniel...Gods be good, he was burned to cinders. 

It was strange. Until the previous day, in which she had killed her old colleagues, Gately and Dogwood, then Lester and his Daniel...she had never killed a man in her life. But now, after a career of having lesser mortals do her dirty work, she had finally bloodied her own hands. There was no turning back from here. From now on, she could never again say: _Wakefield was not a killer._  

 There was only one direction she could go now. _On_. 

 Wakefield allowed herself a single human minute, to look down at the grave of her old allies, to mourn the life she was abandoning. Wakefield, the old, subservient Wakefield, who had always needed a master, had to die. Now-she answered to no one but herself. Now-hers would be the name all feared to speak. Now-she was _Rex_. 

  The final king on the chessboard.

 Once again behind the wheel of the Mercedes, Rex put her foot down flat to the floor, before speeding off into this new city, into a brand new game. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thank you all so, so much for reading. I cannot tell you how much it has meant to me that you've stuck with this story, and hopefully have enjoyed. I'll probably write some more in the near future, so stay tuned for that. Take care! Until then, this has been your friend, QuietBubbles <3 xxx


End file.
